Silvia Curbelo

Rookie - 0 Points (Matanzas, Cuba)

Learning To Play Coltrane - Poem by Silvia Curbelo

She thought it was green, not
the emerald green of Indian summer
but a green like a darkening plain,
or the shadow rivers cast.
She thought it was light, a glint
or a warning, the shine
at the papery edge
of storm clouds. The way
a voice rising and falling becomes
a premonition, a dampness
at the back of her neck. Or maybe
it was more of an imprint,
a memory of sound, some afternoon
after the circus has left town
and all that remains is a field
strewn with garbage, a music
of pasted stars and ruin.
And she thought of a color
like that, mud-green, the green
of a small sadness, shapeless
as the wind itself. And for a moment
she owned everything inside it,
the light, the field, the wind.

—for Adrian

First published in American Poetry Review.

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Poem Submitted: Friday, June 15, 2007

Poem Edited: Saturday, March 12, 2011

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