Hubris

“Dusk,” “Mercy,” and “In Winter’s Winds”

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“the priestly trees are silent   no hail mary’s or token absolutions   they sway like a thousand rabbis at the wall   but nothing wails   except the wind   the prayers have been folded and tucked into stones or turned into origami prisms and floated like kites toward the sky    who is left to do the bidding   to mind the castle   when there is no one   left”—Mimi German

Miriam’s Well

By Mimi German

Image, large, here. Caption: The Skid Row area in Los Angeles.
The Skid Row area in Los Angeles. (Photo: Lucy Nicholson/Reuters.)

Mimi German WH framed headshot

PORTLAND Oregon—(Weekly Hubris)—March 2021—

Dusk

rain drops hard   clacks the earth   like worry beads   the priestly trees are silent   no hail marys or token absolutions   they sway like a thousand rabbis at the wall   but nothing wails   except the wind   the prayers have been folded and tucked into stones or turned into origami prisms and floated like kites toward the sky    who is left to do the bidding   to mind the castle   when there is no one   left

 

Mercy

i am   you   alone   on the street   squatting beneath the trees   that guard me against   all the rain   i am as much not   jesus as you are jesus   we live inside this mythological mask   of living   of dying   happy as the scrum   swimming in the backwash of rainbows     winter leaves ruby then decompose   like branchless myths  on the byways and sideways   mercy is worthless between the thighs of beauty underneath a worn skirt    delayed   and denied

 

In Winter’s Winds

days darken by the dead and dying   the lifeless light of a porcelain temple has oxidized to dust   the turnstile rickets for one last lustre   and like leaves the color of cayenne   the desiccate lonelies frower then crumble carnelian   the red throated diver rests on iron flint and then to dusk   song birds preen the souse in braids of threading rain   the wind and snow have marked in chalk the fall of garden’s thornless rose   the sun is now a burned out brick   more ashes for the stove   our bed is cold as coal

Mimi German is a poet living in Portland, Oregon. Her poetry manuscript, Eyes of Horse Hair, recently received Honorable Mention for The Hopper Poetry Prize 2020. German's poetry may be found in “The Hopper,” “The Mantle,” “Three Line Poetry” (Vols. 51 & 52), “NewVerse News,” “Public Pool,” and “Counterpunch.” Her spare time is spent advocating for the unhoused in the village of St. Johns.

6 Comments

  • Kendall

    I love Mimi’s powerful poems. She’s forging ahead with a form of poetry that avoids line breaks and depends on vivid imagery and thought association to surprise us and blow our minds.

  • Anne Kohut

    What joy to see Mimi German’s beautiful work in this publication! I’ve long appreciated how her poet’s eye captures the world around us in evocative language that captures the joy, heartache, hope & longing of all our existence.

  • Mimi German

    Kendall, thank you for seeing my poetry with such clarity and for sharing your thoughts about my work with others. I have carried your encouragement and wisdom in my heart for a long while now. We must trust the art and its process and avoid the challenges of getting in its way even when we feel less than secure about it. Thank you for your guidance and for your trust over these few years that what I see and how it makes its way to the page, will be honest and true to what I witness.

  • Mimi German

    Anne,
    Thank you for reading my poetry and for seeing all that is within it. Yes, it is often dark since these are the dark times, but you also see the joy and love that is woven in between the spaces of breath. I am grateful that WeeklyHubris has offered me a spot beside its hearth to set my poems free. Thank you for coming to this site to see what WH has to offer!

  • Mimi German

    Hi Randy. Thank you so much for your wonderful comment and also for reading my work!
    With gratitude–
    Mimi