Two Poems by Gary Fincke

The Far North

In this climate, there is always
consequence from exposing
even the smallest part of yourself
to a moment of common weather.
This far north, without a shadow
for half a life, there’s reassurance
in its length extending, at last,
like a brief compass. There are days
when we say, “The whisper of stars,”
naming the tinkling crash-landing
of our spoken words that freeze and fall,
the surprise of the unexpected beauty
of terrible cold. Though, at this latitude,
tragedy is inevitable, such slender grace
of the ordinary can still be earned through
endurance, a bright, fluttering peace
that settles warily upon a branch,
so close just breathing startles it away

*

Word for Word

My wife, today, says she is not as sharp
As last year or even a week ago,
And I agree, claiming kinship to keep
Her company on this steep, soft downslope,
More candid than I was with my father,
Who I hear every time I speak, sometimes
Belligerent with refusal to change.

How we dissolve into inheritance,
Seeing its unmistakable imprint.
A lifetime friend now looks exactly like
His father as he sank through dementia.
Last week, at our 60th reunion,
Only one woman came alone, bringing
A dog for her comfort, a Retriever
As well trained as any of us despite,
I’m certain, becoming more bored as she
Repeated her tale of acquisition.

Word for word, she spoke it to each couple,
Even the pace identical when she
Story-told again to me and my wife,
The way my father, one day, recited
The Gettysburg Address, trying to match
The reported speed of Lincoln. Always,
He ended within five or six seconds,
And then readied himself again, telling
Me to say GO, serious, at ninety,
Sitting in his blue chair with the worn-through
Arm rests, a green pillow stuffed behind him.

Outside, the neighbor with seven children
Yelled the same blasphemy at all of them,
Her husband two years dead, the oldest boy
Smoking, the youngest still in diapers,
My father, nearly deaf, rocking himself
To prepare to stand, failing, then rocking
Again, while I sat and concentrated
Upon keeping my arms mute at my side.

*

Gary Fincke’s newest collection of poetry For Now, We Have Been Spared, will be published by Slant Books in the Spring of 2025. A “Selected Poems,” taken from fourteen collections, will be published in 2025 by Press 53.