2 Poems

Poetry / Megan Pinto

 

:: Sleep ::

	
My friend, return yourself again to sleep. 
Let the night’s rain amend your sleep. 
 
Green leaves at the window brush the door 
of the heart, gently attending to sleep. 
 
Is a lapse between two sorrows a kind of joy?  
Love’s face seen as prophecy when asleep. 
 
A rupture in thinking mirrors my woe. O, 
how I longed for a friend before sleep. 
 
After the long, long day, consciousness 
unfurls in a bed of leaves against sleep. 
 
Megan, don’t fear a night’s dark dreams, rest 
your mind against the page, then sleep. 

:: Light ::

Lay down your woes in these long days of light. 
Pale lavender sky, the evening’s play of light. 
 
When did your green first stir my dormancy? 
Clouds yielded rain, then a shock of May light. 
 
Shadows across bark, a dance of maple leaves 
quiet the mind’s chatter, now swayed by light. 
 
Each morning, I greet my joy, waking to find  
your face framed in a warm pane of light. 
 
My soul waits for its summons from its shy 
heart, who sees beauty in a disarray of light. 

From the writer

 

:: Account ::

Fol­low­ing the pub­li­ca­tion and tour of my debut col­lec­tion, Saints of Lit­tle Faith, I need­ed to find my way back to the page. I want­ed to write poems that felt new to me, that pushed me into dif­fer­ent kinds of syn­tax­es and songs. I re-read Agha Shahid Ali’s Call Me Ish­mael Tonight and real­ized that ghaz­als were a place to start—thematically and musi­cal­ly orga­nized by a refrain vs by a nar­ra­tive thread that ran through the poem. While I loved nar­ra­tive poems, and leaned heav­i­ly into study­ing them while writ­ing my first book, I need­ed to find a coun­ter­bal­ance. I wrote these ghaz­als in the late sum­mer, mov­ing back and forth between these two and a hand­ful of oth­ers. His­tor­i­cal­ly, sum­mer has been a dif­fi­cult time for me write poems, because I become dis­tract­ed with trav­el, par­ties, etc, but the ghaz­als felt some­how more nim­ble. I could work on them one cou­plet at a time, mak­ing slow progress in my note­book that was not quite lin­ear, and yet would come to accrue its own depth. 

Megan Pin­to is the author of Saints of Lit­tle Faith, from Four Way Books (US) and the87press (UK). Her poems can be found or are forth­com­ing in The Los Ange­les Review of BooksThe Acad­e­my of Amer­i­can Poets Poem-a-Day, Ploughshares, and on The Slow­down pod­cast. She has received the Anne Hal­ley Prize from the Mass­a­chu­setts Review and an Amy Award from Poets & Writ­ers, as well as schol­ar­ships and fel­low­ships from the Bread Loaf Writ­ers’ Con­fer­ence, the Martha’s Vine­yard Insti­tute of Cre­ative Writ­ing, the Port Townsend Writ­ers’ Con­fer­ence and Sto­ryknife. She lives in Brooklyn.