is the one who asks
to pick up the dead cicada
silent on the sidewalk

or chases a runaway dachshund
down two blocks of sun until the dog
darts into a neighborhood bar

stands and blinks in the new dark.
Superman in a blue bath towel
safety-pinned at the neck

the boy who lives in the backyard
has the courage to split an eyebrow
against a table edge as he pretends to fly

the courage to sit on a ten-foot wall
cupping an ocher kitten in his palms,
wearing white shoes and belt for the bleary photo

white adhesive tape over the split eyebrow
always healing, kitten cupped in his palms
always safe over a ten-foot drop.  

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previously published in Plainsongs, Spring 1993

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James Cihlar’s poems have appeared in Prairie Schooner, Bloom, Minnesota Monthly, The James White Review, and in the anthologies Aunties (Ballantine) and Regrets Only (Little Pear Press). In 2000 he won a Minnesota State Arts Board Fellowship for Poetry. With a BA from the University of Iowa and a PhD from the University of Nebraska, he has taught at the University of Wisconsin in Stevens Point and at the University of Minnesota in Minneapolis.
E-mail: jcihlar at earthlink dot net
Website: http://mockingbird.creighton.edu/NCW/cihlar.htm
 

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