Elephant Rocks

By Kay Ryan,
Current poet laureate of the United States.

Here and there,
at the edges and marges,
a bit of an elephant surfaces-
a dome and a dip, a haunch
or an aspect of head-
some worn-away soft and yet
angular hump of the
shambling elephant armature,
up through the earth - a bump
or a knob with the elephant signature.
The ancient, implacable creature
comes ambling back; a bulge
reemerges, that sober, that
giveaway gray. The dirt
rubs away from a treasure
too patient and deep to be lost,
however we've hurt, whatever
we've done to the beasts,
whatever we say.

Ryan, K. (1996). Elephant Rocks. New York, NY: Grove Press.
Photo Credit: google images

Age

By Kay Ryan

As some people age
they kinden.
The apertures
of their eyes widen.
I do not think they weaken;
I think something weak strengthens
until they are more and more aware of it,
like letting in heaven.
But other people are
mussels or clams, frightened.
Steam or knife blades mean open.
They hear heaven, they think boiled or broken.

Ryan, K. (1996). Elephant Rocks. New York, NY: Grove Press.
Photo Credit: Library of Congress Blog
blogs.loc.gov/loc/

Learning

By Kay Ryan

Whatever must be learned
is always on the bottom,
as with the law of drawers
and the necessary item.
It isn't pleasant,
whatever they tell children,
to turn out on the floor
the folded things in them.

Ryan, K. (1996). Elephant Rocks. New York, NY: Grove Press.
Photo credit: Christina Koci Hernandez  

If The Moon Happened Once

By Kay Ryan

If the moon happened once,
it wouldn't matter much,
would it?

Once evening's ticket
punched with a
round or a crescent.

You could like it
or not like it,
as you chose.

It couldn't alter
every time it rose;

it couldn't do those
things with scarves
it does.

Ryan, K. (1996). Elephant Rocks. New York, NY: Grove Press.
Photo Credit: Google Images. 

How A Thought Thinks

By Kay Ryan

An thought is dumb,
without eyes, ears,
opposable thumb,
or a tongue.
A thought lives
underground, not
wholly moleish
but with some
of the same
disinterests.
The amazing thing
is that it isn't helpless.
Of all creatures
it is the most
random eater.
Caring only for travel
it eats whatever
roots, ants, or gravel
it meets.It occupies
no more space
than moles. We know it
only by some holes
and the way
apparently healthy notions
topple in the garden.

Ryan, K. (1996). Elephant Rocks. New York, NY: Grove Press.

All Shall Be Restored

By Kay Ryan

The grains shall be collected
from the thousand shores
to which they found their way,
and the boulder restored,
and the boulder itself replaced
in the cliff, and likewise
the cliff shall rise
or subside until the plate of the earth
is without fissure. Restoration
knows no half-measure. It will
not stop when the treasured and lost
bronze horse remounts the steps.
Even this horse will founder backward
to coin, cannon, and domestic pots,
which themselves shall bubble and
drain back to green veins in stone.

Ryan, K. (1996). Elephant Rocks. New York, NY: Grove Press.

Connections

By Kay Ryan

Connections lie in wait-
something that in
the ordinary line of offenses
makes offense more great.
They entrap, they solicit
under false pretenses,
they premeditate.
They tie one of
your shoelaces
to one of a stranger,
they tie strings to purses
and snatch as
you lean down, eager
for a little something gratis.

Ryan, K. (1996). Elephant Rocks. New York, NY: Grove Press.