Alfred Corn

“Whether

Whether anger quickens a lagging stride,

and periodic burn-offs in the forest

revitalize exhausted soil and flora—.

Whether we should take pleasure in the wildcat


jubilation of a lightning bolt

that whips its silver vein of genesis

through the night sky, flash-photo of a white

birch upended, the root-system buckled


to swollen thunderheads—. And whether naming

an offense amounts to sour grapes and common

bitterness, or even the conceited nonsense

of unwashed yahoo multitudes, a yawping


insult to civilized behavior—. Whether

a July rainstorm, even when it drenches

the unprepared pedestrian and befuddles

traffic, might be extravagant, a joy,


like the whoops and escalating bop glissandos

of Gillespie’s upraised horn, cascading pitches

a countersong to meteoric chalk marks

Perseids burn across the House of Leo—.


And whether peaceful ecstasy might float

up from a fifteen-second avalanche

reflected in the skier’s goggles, his jacket

a spark of scarlet on the topmost slope,


waiting for the homeward track to clear.”
― Alfred Corn, Contradictions