Remains
Cyra S. Dumitru
ISBN 978-1-931247-58-0
Praise for remains
“In this collection of expansive poems, Cyra extends her poetic reach to encompass issues of peace and justice, of daily life, of love and tragedy, with the careful attention to detail and graceful language that has marked both of her previous books.”
H. Palmer Hall, poet and former editor of Pecan Grove Press
“What’s striking about this book is its quiet wisdom; what’s remarkable about it is that even when it looks at the horrors and losses of the world, it finds beauty. These are poems of redemption, of compassion, of a poet with a great and necessary understanding of what it means to be human.”
Hayan Charara, The Sadness of Others and The Alchemist’s Diary
From remains
Extinction Heard on the Radio
for Chief Marie Smith Jones, Eyak tribe
She prays in a language I don’t recognize,
a language, the announcer says, that died
yesterday, peacefully in sleep.
Hers is an ancient voice, shimmering with scars
along the belly. As her prayer crackles through Arctic ice,
cuts through the void, I hear sounds familiar yet wild—
click clock sounds made when the tongue presses against
the palate, sounds heard from a pygmy owl
with broken wings that clicks a stranger’s intrusion.
This utterance rubs against loneliness: recalling,
as it might, the first walk across the Bering Strait.
To keep the wanderers warm, perhaps God gave this prayer.
This language might tone the songs of whales,
include a word that means—bear sliding in icy snow—
offer multiple words for heat and the undulation of fire.
This language might feel a word for the silence
that follows a woman’s final breath. We will never know:
whoowha
Cyra S. Dumitru
ISBN 978-1-931247-58-0
Praise for remains
“In this collection of expansive poems, Cyra extends her poetic reach to encompass issues of peace and justice, of daily life, of love and tragedy, with the careful attention to detail and graceful language that has marked both of her previous books.”
H. Palmer Hall, poet and former editor of Pecan Grove Press
“What’s striking about this book is its quiet wisdom; what’s remarkable about it is that even when it looks at the horrors and losses of the world, it finds beauty. These are poems of redemption, of compassion, of a poet with a great and necessary understanding of what it means to be human.”
Hayan Charara, The Sadness of Others and The Alchemist’s Diary
From remains
Extinction Heard on the Radio
for Chief Marie Smith Jones, Eyak tribe
She prays in a language I don’t recognize,
a language, the announcer says, that died
yesterday, peacefully in sleep.
Hers is an ancient voice, shimmering with scars
along the belly. As her prayer crackles through Arctic ice,
cuts through the void, I hear sounds familiar yet wild—
click clock sounds made when the tongue presses against
the palate, sounds heard from a pygmy owl
with broken wings that clicks a stranger’s intrusion.
This utterance rubs against loneliness: recalling,
as it might, the first walk across the Bering Strait.
To keep the wanderers warm, perhaps God gave this prayer.
This language might tone the songs of whales,
include a word that means—bear sliding in icy snow—
offer multiple words for heat and the undulation of fire.
This language might feel a word for the silence
that follows a woman’s final breath. We will never know:
whoowha
Cyra S. Dumitru
ISBN 978-1-931247-58-0
Praise for remains
“In this collection of expansive poems, Cyra extends her poetic reach to encompass issues of peace and justice, of daily life, of love and tragedy, with the careful attention to detail and graceful language that has marked both of her previous books.”
H. Palmer Hall, poet and former editor of Pecan Grove Press
“What’s striking about this book is its quiet wisdom; what’s remarkable about it is that even when it looks at the horrors and losses of the world, it finds beauty. These are poems of redemption, of compassion, of a poet with a great and necessary understanding of what it means to be human.”
Hayan Charara, The Sadness of Others and The Alchemist’s Diary
From remains
Extinction Heard on the Radio
for Chief Marie Smith Jones, Eyak tribe
She prays in a language I don’t recognize,
a language, the announcer says, that died
yesterday, peacefully in sleep.
Hers is an ancient voice, shimmering with scars
along the belly. As her prayer crackles through Arctic ice,
cuts through the void, I hear sounds familiar yet wild—
click clock sounds made when the tongue presses against
the palate, sounds heard from a pygmy owl
with broken wings that clicks a stranger’s intrusion.
This utterance rubs against loneliness: recalling,
as it might, the first walk across the Bering Strait.
To keep the wanderers warm, perhaps God gave this prayer.
This language might tone the songs of whales,
include a word that means—bear sliding in icy snow—
offer multiple words for heat and the undulation of fire.
This language might feel a word for the silence
that follows a woman’s final breath. We will never know:
whoowha