Tag Archives: Steve Klepetar

Steve Klepetar

Cities of the Plain

You peer back toward the cities of the plain
where you smell the smoke
of their burning, watch white ash fall among pines


Steve Klepetar plans to watch the presidential election returns with a towel over his head. (We are planning to spend election night just staring at the towel on Steven’s head.–The Eds.)


 

Steve Klepetar

A Green Country

We are dreaming this, listening
to flame as it eats wood
with its teeth and translucent tongue.


Steve Klepetar listens to Pandora while he walks in his nearly deserted neighborhood, glad not to explain why he wears a Yankees cap in Massachusetts.


 

Ian Willey

Strange Comfort

When my car died after a long
and debilitating illness everyone
said the same stuff about moving on
and you should be thankful for this,
that, and the other thing, except for
my neighbor, the one who’s always
driving over our lawn when backing
out, who put down his hoe and said
“so, what are you going to do about
all the oil spots on your driveway?”
and God do I love the jerk for that.


To get back home Ian Willey has to take a flight from Tokyo to Chicago and then transfer to Greensboro, NC, when the planes are flying.


 

Steve Klepetar

Night Sounds

I hear someone singing
a little way off,
the tune bouncing
off rooftops and walls,

and frogs, every voice,
every note clinging
in a rich stew of sound.


Steve Klepetar has read 7 dystopian novels in the past two weeks.


 

Steve Klepetar

Late

Because our train was diverted
from its usual stop

we had a long walk
across town

but we couldn’t find
the right house

so I had to ask directions
from a tall man

with a straw hat
and by then we were so late

I could hear search dogs
howling beneath the rising moon.


Steve Klepetar wanted to name his sons “Butch” and “Sundance,” but his wife wouldn’t let him. 


 

Steve Klepetar

Waking

Waking blind in a blur of snow,
into sky trembling like water in a storm,

to the radio telling news of fires
and smoke pouring through canyons,

to armies marching over a snowy field,
to weapons scattered across the hills,

to something scurrying over the roof,
to crows startling the gray air,

to my hands tingling as I work to reach you,
signaling through darkness with fingers of ice.


Steve Klepetar wanted to name his sons “Butch” and “Sundance,” but his wife wouldn’t let him. 


 

Steve Klepetar

The Boat of my Birth

They say it happened on a night with no stars,
a night of mist that was almost rain,

and when it was over, my mother held me
above the waves, her quiet face stained with tears

as I lay wrinkled and red, crying a little, then quiet,
as petrels soared and squawked above the mast.


Steve Klepetar has a heart too soon made glad, too easily impressed.


 

Steve Klepetar

Dream Fish

A man fishes
on a quiet lake
in early
morning mist

casting out
into the dark
reflection
of trees

where dream
fish rise,
glistening
in the silver sun.


Steve Klepetar lives in the Berkshires in Massachusetts, which feels like a refuge in these dark times.