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Letter to America
by Daniel Seifert

One Poem

Calming exercise for the 21st Century

I know it’s getting late, my friend
time unlikely
to untick itself. But let me tell you
about air.

They say a horse’s lungs, inflated
could fit a fullgrown man.
(Snug nut in beastly shell.)
Your lungs can feel as free, if
you bathe them in the bromide
of a primal scream. Now

they say a laugh can be a balm
too, but not in days like these.
Besides, my fears are piglet-fat
and know that laughter doesn’t
rhyme with slaughter. So,
ready? Fill the cartridge

of your voice. Breathe
in and in and ever-in—
—eat air until it feels
like when you were a kid
chewing the wind in winter.
All goggleyed, throat smoking
at how a flake will coat
a city. Inhale
the bitumen, burnt vowels
the tickertape hate, consume
it all until the cartridge is full.
What comes out, well
I’m curious myself.

 

 

    

Daniel SeifertDaniel Seifert’s writing is published or forthcoming in The New York Times, Rattle, The Sun, and Poetry Wales. His work has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize, and twice shortlisted for the Bridport Prize. He tweets @DanSeifwrites.

Header photo by Makarova Viktoria, courtesy Shutterstock.