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Thanks to a residency at EcoHealth, my verse these days finds inspiration in the specter of future pandemics; for my dissertation at LMU M√ľnchen, where I tutor composition and edit a poetry weekly, I'm anatomizing the prosody of E. A. Robinson's sonnets—I also teach at MVHS and lead the Amerikahaus Literary Circle.


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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