"Write the vision:
Make it plain on tablets
So that a runner may read it."
- Habakkuk 2:2
Novelist, memoirist, and poet, Joseph Di Prisco published his fourth book of poetry, My Last Resume: New & Collected Poems in 2023. His work has appeared in numerous journals and periodicals, and his poetry has been awarded prizes from Poetry Northwest, Bear Star Press, and Bread Loaf. Joe champions writers, artists, educators, and students through his decades of teaching and his involvement with organizations dedicated to the arts, theater, and children’s mental health.
Joseph joins us remotely via Zoom.
Welcome to the Poets Weave. I'm Romayne Rubinas Dorsey. Joseph, what poems have you brought for us today?
THE CANCELLATION OF SPRING
For Francesca
Every year, spring trots out the usual lie,
That there’s no such thing as death,
That the world as we knew it is—tra-la—all new.
But the finches, wildflowers, mint juleps, Vivaldi,
Red lanterns jaunty in the breeze: I don’t care anymore—
Now that you’re not here. For me, I’ll harbor wintry rains,
Shield my eyes from an emerald hummingbird’s rubied flash.
No reason for creeks not to overflow their banks, where
Late the frogs and crickets sang, serenading pointlessly.
And home? That’s where ghostly voices bounce off
My claustrophobic walls. Children in packed parks
Running amok? Dogs wallowing in mud? Without you,
Spring has nothing to say. Sure, I almost wish the wisteria
Would rage into frantic bloom. Yes, someone else may
Pluck a bouquet of bright tulips, being crazy all over in love.
But because you won’t be there, there’s just no garden party
Worth dressing up for anymore. All we have is this dream
While we stand underneath the loom of an unquiet sky.
Above, a little plane is droning, droning, bearing you beyond,
Beyond a million California poppies and the sunlight
We keep dreaming you—you—are still dancing upon.
I WAS JUST LEAVING
Then again, I am always just leaving. It’s the best part
Of showing up in the first place. The dog to be fed,
My kid to be picked up at the rink, a trip to pack for,
Anything to obtain clearance from traffic control.
These are not fabrications if somebody believes.
So long has passed since I was just leaving,
I almost forgot I ever arrived. So much ground
We have covered since. We wonder, what if we went
To one school and not another, turned down one street
Where the piano was lifted up the building side,
Missed the connection and the plane went down
In flames. Lives we might have lived, lovers
We might have betrayed or who betrayed us.
Sometimes I’m certain we missed the best times
Somebody might have had. And yet, and yet, who can
Forget the instant anesthesia kicks in—
Ten, nine, darkness—or remember it? And then
The black curtain is pulled back and we wake up with
A new knee, or a heart. That time I was just
Leaving was the time I did not, did not pass
By the casement window, descend the marble stairs,
Buttoned up my coat and walked out into the falling snow,
And reached up to pull down my hat against the cold
And realized I’d left my hat upstairs, where I still was.
You've been listening to the poems of Joseph Di Prisco on the Poets Weave. I'm Romayne Rubinas Dorsey.
