Poetry

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Magical Realist Online
“Before man to blow to right
The wind once blew itself untaught,
And did its loudest day and night
In any rough place where it caught.

Man came to tell it what was wrong:
It hadn't found the place to blow;
It blew too hard - the aim was song.
And listen - how it ought to go!

He took a little in his mouth,
And held it long enough for north
To be converted into south,
And then by measure blew it forth.

By measure. It was word and note,
The wind the wind had meant to be -
A little through the lips and throat.
The aim was song - the wind could see."

Robert Frost -The Aim was Song.
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Magical Realist Online
Nicole Sealey
Object Permanence
(for John)





We wake as if surprised the other is still there,

each petting the sheet to be sure.



How have we managed our way

to this bed—beholden to heat like dawn



indebted to light. Though we’re not so self-

important as to think everything



has led to this, everything has led to this.

There’s a name for the animal



love makes of us—named, I think,

like rain, for the sound it makes.



You are the animal after whom other animals

are named. Until there’s none left to laugh,



days will start with the same startle

and end with caterpillars gorged on milkweed.



O, how we entertain the angels

with our brief animation. O,



how I’ll miss you when we’re dead.
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