Climbing the Bodhi Tree & Other Poems


By Kathryn Knight Sonntag

 


Climbing the Bodhi Tree 
 

And maybe
in the after 
looking
back
will taste
like
cirrus
smoke 
and dusk
passing—

terrestrial 
desire sun-
dered—
throated
Ātman
temples
looking up 
looking

down and 
re-
collecting 
with lotus 
eyes. 


tinnitus of imitative origin 

imitative alarm pulled— 
the static on cochleae: small shells

or screws        
small snails scream
I captive of decibels of no 

capitulation a four-year home 
to unseen invaders  

mercenaries of Corti—is there a password 
to absolution escape from re-reverb- 

erations and swarm
sworn to rave until the end how can I hear 

myvoice          let/alone          godvoice

under the blood | brain barrier 
broken what is silence 

anymore how can I 
feel invincible again

 

Red-crowned Crane
Grus japonensis

a spindled kar-ro thrums
              the underside of his gray
              throat. she knows his call

it is not for her.
             oscillating
             he listens, calls again, trills

dropping off the edge
             of a green-grey bill.
             their lucky red crowns

openings to blood-red
             skin—she a pebble skull
             opening the world

to no deep water
             surrounding no marshes
             their crowns

garnets in meadow.
             what holy
             luck, fidelity

in their fathom-
             less orbs
             portends

longevity two
              of
              3,300.



For My Son after Reading “The Maiden Tsar” 

Your baby tongue, 
soft between open lips, will 
soon find doorshoeapple.

There are no guarantees 
in the dark wood that will follow. 
In the gaps between baby 
and man are wolves, 
many baba yagas.

Peering into your small, dark 
mouth, I see you 
running down a dark glen, 
to the next cottage, unsure, 
to find another hag 
with bloody tricks—
heads of men
staked around her door.

On your way to destiny 
are many open flowers; sick
with slumber, you become 
their gaze. The help I cannot
will come to you in bird 
tracks, at once here 
and not at all.

Will you learn to speed
the side saddling of sounds, 
signifier of lover, as once with 
mother, riding across the night, 
bumping up against the weaving of web 
around hope and despair
in equal measure. 

Mouthing home, and seeing
apple.


Kathryn Knight Sonntag is the author of the poetry collection The Tree at the Center (BCC Press, 2019). She has recent and forthcoming creative works in Psaltery & Lyre, www.visitutah.com/she, Dialogue, Shades: Literary Magazine of the University of Utah, Abstract, Wilderness Interface Zone, The Curator and the anthology Blossom as the Cliffrose (Torrey House Press, 2021). She works as a landscape architect and freelance writer in Salt Lake City, Utah.

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Remnants: IV & Other Poems