{"id":4790,"date":"2017-06-20T12:55:45","date_gmt":"2017-06-20T12:55:45","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/narrativenortheast.com\/?p=4790"},"modified":"2017-06-20T12:57:08","modified_gmt":"2017-06-20T12:57:08","slug":"sweet-arima-sean-desvignes","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/narrativenortheast.com\/?p=4790","title":{"rendered":"SWEET ARIMA – Sean DesVignes"},"content":{"rendered":"

of hog plums & figs, there\u2019s a song
\nbut the coconut tree is sleeping
\n 
\nso I don\u2019t compose under it or ask it for shade
\nMy guitar has a fever in it; it needs its own seat.
\n 
\nWe were taught if we pointed at a grave
\nthe finger we pointed with would rot
\n 
\nwithin three days, & could only be saved
\nby spitting on the finger twice,
\n 
\nwe learned not to pick up coins on the road
\nso we wouldn\u2019t be bronzed by the coin\u2019s worry,
\n 
\nnot to write our names in the sand
\nat the beach or else the water would claim us;
\n 
\npraise what you know.
\nI know songwriting is a treachery
\n 
\n& what belongs to the earth belongs to the earth.
\nI cross grasslands, split legumes
\n 
\nto a trail of soybeans, bathe by the river
\nswallowing saltwater, sweet Trinidad,
\n 
\nI come to copyright my blood
\nby shaking songs out of me
\n 
\nwhich belong to you.
\nAir curried with cologne, exhale of bitters,
\n 
\nmingling, swirling around my height
\nlike an unsettled spirit, the taxi
\n 
\nengine sputtering like a withdrawn rage.
\nArena of phallic moods, prose against politics,
\n 
\nthe country\u2019s book coming to life with a second face,
\na British war hero\u2019s name, Kitchener.
\n 
\n 
\n\"\"Sean DesVignes is a Beinecke Scholar and MFA candidate at New York University. His poetry has won the Beatrice Dubin Rose Award & the Burton A. Goldberg Prize. He is a poetry editor at shufPoetry and a Cave Canem Fellow. He lives in Brooklyn, NY.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

of hog plums & figs, there\u2019s a song but the coconut tree is sleeping   so I don\u2019t compose under it or ask it for shade My guitar has a fever in it; it needs its own seat.   We were taught if we pointed at a grave the finger we pointed with would rot [&hellip<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":4221,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[4],"tags":[41,217],"class_list":["post-4790","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-poetry","tag-art","tag-art-by-seema-kholi"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/narrativenortheast.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4790","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/narrativenortheast.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/narrativenortheast.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/narrativenortheast.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/narrativenortheast.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=4790"}],"version-history":[{"count":6,"href":"https:\/\/narrativenortheast.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4790\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":5132,"href":"https:\/\/narrativenortheast.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4790\/revisions\/5132"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/narrativenortheast.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/4221"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/narrativenortheast.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=4790"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/narrativenortheast.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=4790"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/narrativenortheast.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=4790"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}