How Divine
{An Umbrella Special Feature}


Paul Fisher

A native of Puget Sound country in Washington State, Paul Fisher is the recipient of an Individual Artist’s Fellowship in Poetry from the Oregon State Arts Commission, and a graduate of the MFA Program in Poetry at New England College.

His poems have appeared in numerous publications, including Edgz, The Oregonian, Passager, The Christian Science Monitor, and Terrain.org: a Journal of the Built & Natural Environments.

He has taught cross-genre arts in public and private schools, and held other jobs as diverse as environmental activist for Greenpeace and llama wrangler on a ranch in The Columbia River Gorge. Paul lives with his wife, Linda, and a small menagerie of animals on North Carolina’s Outer Banks.


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Old Story

They say that God was telling
her unbelievable story
when suddenly she pulled
a slender hand full of props
(sun, moon, earth and various stars)
from her sky-black velvet purse.
After setting each
in almost perfect motion,
she paused
while creation held its breath
for the inescapable conclusion.

None of this matters to you or me.
Philosophy won’t clear arteries
or send blood coursing through thought.
And when you think
you have it nailed down,
wind shifts and shadows sharpen—
a heron ripples mirror’s pond;
a goshawk drops without a sound.


[An earlier version first appeared in Explorations]

 

Midnight in the Garden

In this as-yet-undreamed-of tale,
I am not bilingual. Half your dying
language proves enough.

But you might ask me
why I then wear sheaths of stars
around the teardrop of my pale

blue back-lit pearl?
So I argue for the other side,
swallow words, shed my tail.

I teach my golden tongue to fork
before it greets two perfect strangers
free to quarrel, even as we speak,

over who shall gather, who shall hunt,
and who shall sow—hands black with ink—
the blood-dark maize and bulgur wheat

in this as-yet-un-costumed tale.



 
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