From Space

By Katharine Coles Katharine Coles
You are smaller than I remember
And so is the house, set downhill
Afloat in a sea of scrub oak. From up here
It’s an ordinary box with gravel

Spread over its lid, weighting it, but
Inside it’s full of shadows and sky.
Clouds pull themselves over dry
Grass, which, if  I’m not mistaken, will erupt

Any minute in flame. Only
A spark, a sunbeam focused. From up
Here, enjoying the view, I can finally
Take you in. Will you wave back? I keep

Slingshotting around. There’s gravity
For you, but all I ever wanted was to fly.

Source: Poetry (May 2014).

MORE FROM THIS ISSUE

This poem originally appeared in the May 2014 issue of Poetry magazine

May 2014
 Katharine  Coles

Biography

Poet, novelist, and editor Katharine Coles earned a BA at the University of Washington, an MA at the University of Houston, and a PhD at the University of Utah.
 
Coles is the author of several collections of poetry, including Fault (2008), Utah Book Award winner The Golden Years of the Fourth Dimension (2001), and The One Right Touch (1992). She is also the author of the novels Fire Season (2005) and The Measurable World . . .

Continue reading this biography

Poem Categorization

SUBJECT Living, The Mind, Relationships, Home Life, Nature, Landscapes & Pastorals

POET’S REGION U.S., Northwestern

Poetic Terms Free Verse

Report a problem with this poem


Your results will be limited to content that appeared in Poetry magazine.

Search Every Issue of Poetry

Originally appeared in Poetry magazine.

This poem has learning resources.

This poem is good for children.

This poem has related video.

This poem has related audio.