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Downwind by Arthur Sze

Updated: Jul 4, 2022

Listen to Arthur Sze read Downwind here.


Originally published in Terrain.org


Downwind


When the air clears after days of smoke,

you yearn to swim in an alpine lake

that mirrors clouds and wash the scent

of burned pines from your hair;

from the west, smoke has traveled

a thousand miles, the point of ignition

where a pine snapped a transmission line.

When the air clears after days of smoke,

you notice the serrated edges along

apple leaves, locate a point of ignition

in a word, a jab: a man chalks

a cue stick and, slamming the white ball

into a pyramid of balls, feels for a millisecond

a point of ignition and surge in the clatter.

When the air clears after days of smoke,

you believe you were simply casualty

downwind, but, as you hold

a Rubik’s Cube of time in your hands,

the orange sunrise is nowhere,

everywhere, and—damn—that the pieces

are pieces you cannot flip back.

















Photo of Arthur Sze by Sharlett Bravo.


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