The Augurs
by Jennifer Soong
Come July, the yolk of a year
is dragged to lie on lawns of velvet sheen.
Dark-light blades, one-tenth-an-inch wide,
over which the red sun hunches, immobilized.
With what do we lie, waiting the night
on the hot black earth to erupt from us
a muddled report? How little we do.
How little we rest. How much we demand
from the daily murders passing
vulture-like, like stars.
About the Author:
Jennifer Soong’s poems have appeared or are forthcoming in H_NGM_N, Prelude Magazine, DIAGRAM, Flag & Void, and elsewhere. She is the poetry editor at Nat. Brut and currently lives in Princeton, NJ.
