Hejira

A poem by L. Ward Abel

Goodbye, summer. I stand
on the front porch in silhouette.
A wave does no justice. My profile
is only a version. Goodbye, I say,
awaiting the coming color of fire
that will cling in finale to my branches.
I feel eighteen for a moment,
but even doorways lose their luster
once passed through. Dusk.
I can't translate this farewell, I can
only say it.

L. Ward Abel Ward writes:
"Hejira" is a song, really, of transitions, of course. But also an ode to rites of passage, accepted, in this case, in a body that is "eighteen" no more by a mind that transcends time. The ending of things is becoming a pattern, painted in a language that eludes the poet and reader alike.

L. Ward Abel is a poet, composer of music (Max Able/Abel, Rawls & Hayes), and spoken-word performer (Scapeweavel). He lives in rural Georgia, and has been widely published in the U.S. and Europe, including White Pelican Review, The Pedestal, erbacce (UK), Versal (Netherlands), Open Wide (UK), Ink Pot, Texas Poetry Journal, and others. His chapbook, Peach Box and Verge, has been recently published by Little Poem Press. His new book of poems, Jonesing For Byzantium, will be published later this year at UK Authors Press (Bristol, UK). Abel's website is www.universecanoe.com. He can be reached via email at: WAbel@ldpc.net.

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