Wyn Cooper

Postcard From a Dream

Not even the northern star could tell us where we are.
The No Trespassing sign is not in a language we know.
We walk past it, into this forest that won’t return us
the same. New sounds grow louder as night comes on.

We feel where water springs from the ground, follow
it down the mountain to an oval lake. Everyone
is awake when we arrive, floating on houseboats
lit by candles, whistling like birds after rain.

Postcard from Whitingham, Vermont

Famous polygamist  Brigham Young  came into the world here. He led the Mormons from
Illinois to Utah,  adding  wives  as he went,  until he had  27.   When he  got to the valley of
the  Great  Salt  Lake,  he said  “This  is the  place,”  and stayed.  But   Vermont  has  not
forgotten him. A hundred years ago, a local farmer took a buggy ride with his wife. When
they returned,  someone had placed a large stone  marker twenty feet from  their  house,
which still says today: BRIGHAM  YOUNG: BORN  ON  THIS  SPOT  1801  A  MAN  OF
MUCH COURAGE AND SUPERB EQUIPMENT.

A grand old paddleboat, combustion powered, takes tourists out on the reservoir, which
winds its way a dozen miles through the mountains.  A nude beach, next to a gay nude
beach,  neither of which are beaches but short rock cliffs that lie at an angle to the water,
are the parts of the cruise the tourists remember.  The boat goes in close, the shutters
click, and no one feels right about it.  A few years ago the nudists got together and rented
the boat, then took off their clothes when they were half a mile from the dock. They made
the pilot steer the boat in close to the regular beaches, the boat put-ins, and the main road
that runs along one side. Never once did any of them mention Brigham Young,
emancipator of sorts, whose first house looked down on what is now a shimmering lake
in the summer sun.

Postcard from This Place

This bird on the branch can’t feel the season. It flies from tree,
                       to tree, north-south, north-south.
This odd little car is stuck between two buses, which take it up
                      the interstate at terrible speed.
This harbor frozen over is like no harbor I know. If I can’t see
                       the water it must not be there.
This strange little bar is tucked between two houses, which keep
                       it from going anywhere.
This message arrived today: Leave now or be sorry later. I don’t
                       know which to choose.
This tiny travelling circus is setting up in my field. Will they ask
                       me to perform?
So far down the ladder the pickings are slim, but I like slim and
                       fit in fine.
This bag full of money means nothing to me, but no you can’t
                       have it.
This close to the border it’s best to be a bird and fly over.

Postcard from the Second Person

World around you whirled away
by agents of dizziness, hump
in the road that fools you, cop
down the hill hiding between
the apple orchard and the bright
field of corn. He and his army
advancing, in oh! those uniforms.

The world can be painful, or dull,
it can lull you into thinking
you know what you don’t.
You want to see it eye to eye,
but today the wind blows hard.

When the dust finally settles
you’re home mending fences,
to protect the peaches you give
to women whose names rhyme with
fauna, quill, lavender, and fizz.