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As the resident artist at EcoHealth, I pen verse these days inspired by the specter of future pandemics; for my dissertation at Amerika-Institut of LMU M√ľnchen, where I edit a weekly circular on poetry, I'm anatomizing the prosody of E. A. Robinson's sonnets—I also teach English, tutor composition, and lead a literary circle.

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9 February 2013


by Mark Olival-Bartley

What I would like to tell you on this day,
which breaks in Munich with a snow-lit glow
that both obscures and clears the late sun's way,
so different from the mornings that you know,
where mynahs fill the sky with screechy bray
(and render your pet rooster tame and low)
as you face mauka, cigarette in hand,
enjoy your coffee, briskly brush the sleep
away, and watch the color come to land
upon the Ko'olaus enfolding sweep,
the marvel of their orange and pinkish band
that turns to grand and verdant ridges deep
in shadows:  Happy seventieth, and
I love you, Dad.  Let's let this moment keep.

Note:  A recitation can be heard here.

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