Aristaeus
A Poem by John Walser
Was he a bronze deer
in a stubble field
or a dead one
meadow infested
by sun ribbons
and flies black as bulbs
and bees not returned
to my hives?
When was the bellywound iron ache
from these tavern hall antlers
long ago separated?
or worse (or worst)
the flesh tear dog pack?
Who has drunk prayed
to the headband birds’ nests
balance mounted
over the hearth fire?
Who has stroked the door
to blind find the pull
and said goodnight
to his sad glass eyes
and apologized
for the hunger, the thirst
the lust of men?
Who besides me
has marked night’s end
by sorrow saying
to the double moon:
Stag. My son.
You too should be stumbling
toward a ditchside bed?
John Walser’s (he/him) poems have appeared in numerous journals, including Spillway, Water-Stone Review, Plume, Posit and One Art. His manuscript Edgewood Orchard Galleries has been a finalist for the Autumn House Press Prize, the Ballard Spahr Prize and the Zone 3 Press Prize as well as a semifinalist for the Philip Levine Prize and the Crab Orchard Series First Book Award. A four-time semifinalist for the Pablo Neruda Prize and a three-time Pushcart nominee, as well as a Best New Poets nominee and a Best of the Net nominee, John is the recipient of the 2015 Lorine Niedecker Poetry Award. He is a professor of English at Marian University and lives in Fond du Lac, Wisconsin, with his wife, Julie.
