RAINBOW OVER NEW BRUNSWICK (FROM A TRAIN) 

A complete, huge arc over the town's edge,  
before the bridge and the mudflats and playground---  
the mudflats are almost as beautiful  
as the rainbow, big brown scallops of dirt---  
but there is nothing quite like a rainbow  
for carrying you into the sky. Soon  
afterwards, the rosy clouds lumber in.  

The rainbow almost covers laconic  
syllables of a student and her new  
older educator-lover who asks  
brief, pointed questions and then when I  
turn to say something about the rainbow  
she says "I see it" like a queen would say  
to her annoying dog,"Yes. I hear you."  

Almost covers the cell phone, computer  
bleeping and the cries of wretched children,  
when whole fields turn solid massy orange  
and a circlet of cloudstuff betroths me  
to believe in my God and in my mind's  
corruptibility. In the chthonic  
engine. The fiery, feral track dogs. 
 

Copyright 2000, Cynthia Kraman 


Cynthia Kraman lives in New York City and teaches at the College of
New Rochelle.  She has published three volumes of poetry

 
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