| Frank Osen |
Under the Lighthouseread by nic sebastian Her childhood headlands held a bay like glass, Commanded by a pleasant house and tower Of eaves and brick and sea-patinaed brass, Whose beacon seemed to shine with kindly power. Lighthouses lost a couple of their gables When she discovered that they worked like clocks, Their lamps revolved by counterweights and cables That ran, grandfather-wise, from top to ground, Where souls at sea might founder on the rocks If tenders let the houses come unwound. A keeper couldn’t sleep on-shift at night, Although that rule was often circumvented By napping underneath the lead half-ton That lowered slowly from beneath the light, Then when you felt its pressure on your chest You scrambled up, rewound, refueled, and tended To all the work still needing to be done And so, in fits and starts, you got your rest. She kept her memories of amber beams, Although they seemed to dim once she awoke To oceans of responsibilities. And now, for her, the night-tossed seas evoke Only a figure– prone, uncomprehending, Exhausted– thieving sleep, but caught by dreams Of plaintive cries and dark catastrophes And always from above, a weight, descending.  © Jenna Black Frank Osen's work has appeared in Measure, POOL, Light Quarterly, Pivot, Blue Unicorn, 14 by 14, and The Wallace Stevens Journal. This year he was a runner-up for the Morton Marr poetry award; he also won the 2008 Best American Poetry Series poem challenge. He was a finalist in the 2006 Nemerov sonnet competition. |