from the editors

current issue

past issues



Follow UCityReview on Twitter



Peter Grandbois

The sacrifice of things hurts at first

Light water beneath the dark

The sacrifice of things hurts at first

My steps depart from me
down avenues of banished
dead. I call out to them,

ask what world do you
think this is. Their eyes
open and close like breath

so often forgotten.

My story falls deeper
than trees, as I sit
at the edge of this loud

world waiting for the careful
unraveling of fingers,
how the end so often

resembles the beginning,

Return to list of poems

Light water beneath the dark

On the days when I live as someone else—

a god I do not know, or a one-eyed

merchant dropping coins from citrine fingers—

I fail to feel the light beneath this buried

city or the roots from its broken weather.

I shake and shift in gestures performed by another

to rid myself of ghosts from former lives

before they carry me to some other country

where you and I read the pages of the same book.

The same life. This life.

Sometimes, if I listen, I can hear it.

The water.

Return to list of poems

Peter Grandbois is the author of eight previous books, the most recent of which is This House That (Brighthorse Books, 2017). His poems, stories, and essays have appeared in over ninety journals. His plays have been performed in St. Louis, Columbus, Los Angeles, and New York. He is a senior editor at Boulevard magazine and teaches at Denison University in Ohio.

Return to list of poems

copyright 2010-2018 ucity review