This is a quote by William Blake: “Poetry, Fetter'd. Fetters the Human Race. Nations are Destroy'd, or Flourish, in proportion as Their Poetry Painting and Music, are Destroy'd or Florish! The Primeval State of Man, was Wisdom, Art, and Science.”

An award-winning teacher, Josh A. Brewer has taught writing at Purdue, U of Miami, South Carolina, Tennessee State, Ivy Tech, and Aquinas College. His work appears in Poetry Quarterly, Harvard Rev., Southeast Rev., Natural Bridge, RHINO, Booth, Yemassee, and Sargasso. His books are Writers Resist (2017) and When is a Will (2022).

Welcome to the Poets Weave, I'm Romayne Rubinas Dorsey. Josh, what poems have you brought for us today?

1.
Grounds
I hear the drip and steam, 
Roll over on the bed’s empty pillows,
Rise to pour a mugful. 

You have taken the grounds down to the garden,
Mixed them with last night’s green onions and garlic, mustard and old eggshells, 
Forked them again and turned them and bent to the smell.  

2.
Reincarnation is Broken

Routine icebreaker first week of class
Questions about likes, dislikes, culture, origins, ends.  “If you could be reincarnated 
as an animal, which animal would you pick and why?”
Students usually say, “Eagle—because they can fly.”  

This semester, a girl wearing 
leg
braces said, “Penguin—because that’s how I walk.”
Nobody spoke.  

Then I asked about her favorite band, 
like a coward.

3.
Interpolation

Make the distraction your focus—
Your sleepless night, 
your subject,

The neighbor’s leaf blower,
your muse,

The weeds in the rock garden,
your lover,

The letter to your mom,
your novel,

A cloud and a skylark,
your Alpha and Omega.


Our conversation, 
your sex,
my body,
your poem,
our memories,
your distraction,
your focus,
my present.  

4.
When is a will, whether

Weatherhammer
Or impossible time signature. 

When is itself, and It is Inked in elderberry stain.  
When will
Will you forward, will win

A waiting game 
Without name—can sing, 

Serenade, or metronome 
You home. 

When can Wind a top
When it wills.  

Spill 
its milk. 

As they say

your Will is the way  
 
5. 
The Moving Walkway is Coming to an End

The only thing that moves faster than light is darkness, which dances backward in high heels. Black ones. 

I have discovered a tribe that lives in the suburbs and does not eat corn chips. 

If you get stuck underwater beneath a waterfall, it’s best to have a book. You may be roiling there for a while. 

After the election, the vultures quit their nocturnal visits to binge TV. 

We hurt the ones we love. Love the ones we wear like skin. Hide in skin, hoping someone will send us a tattoo as a message. Needles can be enormous. 

In a trial by combat, one champion was a sea slug, the other a coat rack. They circled each other slowly until the crowd booed them from the arena. 

The name of love ended all speech. You were naked in the airport. “I can’t remember anything but sleeping in milk,” I said. “Love.”

But the moving walkway was coming to an end. We both had to concentrate and lift a foot in perfect time. My black stiletto. Your bare foot—the whitest part of your body. 

You've been listening to the poetry of Josh Brewer on the Poets Weave, I'm Romayne Rubinas Dorsey.