A poem by Jessica Powers from The Second “America” Book of Verse, a collection of the best of America poetry, 1930 to 1955.

My name streams from your mouth—an adagio with indentations anda scent of sacrifice.I see my namewritten ingrass style calligraphy.I want to slide into each strokeand swim with each stroke.I am a dolphin swimming,bobbing up and downalong the Wai’anae coastI am afraid of drowning.The dolp

I talk in my sleep of angry things,In the early light,Louder than I ought to speak.As she stirs up out of sleep,She puts over me arms and legs,     Despite the words.     Despite the worrying words.

He’s moved his body crossways in the bed.His bony legs are thrust between the bars.His knees are scored with crusted scabs and scars,But time has not effaced his striking head.His urine soaks his undershirt; the sheetBeneath him’s drenched. He will be hard to shift.I roll him on his side

Oh Tigris, Oh Euphrates watching Greek armies,Roman archers, legionnaires armed to the teeth, Britishforces, American military, empire-building further, furthereast and south across your deserts, hills, ravines, cities,villages, their shape-shifting alliances, offensives, counter-insurgencies, crush

I don’t know, never knowwhy this sudden joy swell,the sea wall of self fallsand a tide of stars poursover and through me.Please take my blood,make a serum, inoculateme for when this passesand I again fear, certainthat wonder cannot be.