Robin York © 2007 All Rights Reserved
Saint Nektarios the Wonderworker,
mystical sea-enchanter, populist theologian,
“wellspring of healing, fountain of miracles”—
who am I to walk into your city
dumb with wonder,
waving the small flag of my heart
among your ghosts who witness every enthusiasm,
silent as cathedrals?
What incantation unburdens
your prodigious crown of avenues,
gentle as these accordion players
stomping the pavement with wooden soles,
at the sea-change of well-tailored bankers?
Cosmopolitan, ripe as cherries,
bitter as home-brewed soika in late November,
I make arguments with your clock-towers.
I count the names of martyrs scratched on wood stakes.
Teach me a first verse to praise
the yellow leaves of your over-hanging branches;
my days are numbered and I am afraid
to live among them—
John W. Evans’s poems appear in print in Best New Poets 2006, 5AM, Poetry East, Nimrod, Alimentum, Harpur Palate, and Americans Do Their Business Abroad: An Anthology of Peace Corps Travel Writing, and online at Slurve, Stirring, Front Porch.
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