Nothing

By Randall Mann Randall Mann
My mother is scared of the world.
She left my father after forty years.
She was like, Happy anniversary, goodbye;

I respect that.
The moon tonight is dazzling, is full
of   itself  but not quite full.

A man should not love the moon, said Milosz.
Not exactly. He translated himself
into saying it. A man should not love translation;

there’s so much I can’t know. An hour ago,
marking time with someone I would like to like,
we passed some trees and there were crickets

(crickets!) chirping right off  Divisadero.
I touched his hand, and for a cold moment
I was like a child again,

nothing more, nothing less.

Source: Poetry (April 2013).

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This poem originally appeared in the April 2013 issue of Poetry magazine

April 2013
 Randall  Mann

Biography

Randall Mann’s poems are often set within the landscape of Florida or California. Influenced by Philip Larkin, Elizabeth Bishop, and Donald Justice, Mann’s poetry—at once vulnerable, unflinching, and brave in its ambivalence—explores themes of loss, attraction, brutality, and expectation. Of his preference for working in form, Mann says, “Form helps me approach more comfortably the personal, helps me harden argument.”

Mann is . . .

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Originally appeared in Poetry magazine.

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