Jon Pineda

(1971 / Charleston, South Carolina)

The Muse, Or Stars Out On Interstate 81 South - Poem by Jon Pineda

On the tip of a hill, the silhouette is of something not of this world,
the body silent in the birth of another shadow, swelling still

among stars & veins. The sun dropping below the mountains left
hardly any light, except what glimmers on the membrane & slips

into the high grass. Alone, I pulled over to the side
of 81 where semis' blowing horns descend

beyond the sloped field. Pieces of barbed wire snapped from the line.
I stepped through the fence, its blood-colored rust rubbed into my hands.

For a moment, it is something that stays with me, like a memory
that does not give up easily. I try wiping my hands onto my jeans, but nothing.

It is anything it wants to be—calf, half-life, angel—its fur a glaze
of cricket sounds & cool air, a thing of stars burnt into hooves, a haze,

& I stood there, not knowing whether it would be right to touch the one
not breathing, its nose drying in the grass next to my hands, grit

in the creases & burning now with the dust of splinters. Like flies,
my fingers hover over the dead face.

Comments about The Muse, Or Stars Out On Interstate 81 South by Jon Pineda

  • Nima Foroughi (12/9/2015 4:11:00 PM)

    I enjoy it.Thanks for shairing, Jon. (Report) Reply

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  • Kelly Kurt (12/9/2015 10:42:00 AM)

    nicely written, Jon. Thanks (Report) Reply

  • Dan Reynolds (12/9/2015 6:39:00 AM)

    It feels to me, as if you may have hit an animal by mistake, but in visiting its resting place, have at least shown empathy if not sympathy. Nice poem, even if I missed your real mark.
    (Report) Reply

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Poem Submitted: Wednesday, December 9, 2015

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