National Poetry Month || Rendering

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<ul><li><p>University of Northern Iowa</p><p>RenderingAuthor(s): Lee PetersonSource: The North American Review, Vol. 289, No. 2, National Poetry Month (Mar. - Apr.,2004), p. 35Published by: University of Northern IowaStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/25127150 .Accessed: 14/06/2014 01:51</p><p>Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of the Terms &amp; Conditions of Use, available at .http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp</p><p> .JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range ofcontent in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new formsof scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact support@jstor.org.</p><p> .</p><p>University of Northern Iowa is collaborating with JSTOR to digitize, preserve and extend access to The NorthAmerican Review.</p><p>http://www.jstor.org </p><p>This content downloaded from 185.2.32.96 on Sat, 14 Jun 2014 01:51:24 AMAll use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions</p><p>http://www.jstor.org/action/showPublisher?publisherCode=unihttp://www.jstor.org/stable/25127150?origin=JSTOR-pdfhttp://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsphttp://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp</p></li><li><p>NANCY NAHRA </p><p>6. </p><p>Cover, wrap, conceal, reserve </p><p>from the sun what you need, the desert teaches. </p><p>Hide what you may later enjoy, a logic plain as dates that hang bright at the top of the palm. Come </p><p>inside the tent to my folds, my riches. </p><p>Barefaced fools thrive, I know, believe </p><p>my veil makes them invisible or keeps me from seeing brutal </p><p>truth. A mouth crooked with laughter that makes hate quickly to shrink to die in his dry, still tongue. </p><p>Risk the tent, see if you fit inside </p><p>the soul's alembic. </p><p>7. </p><p>"Do good and throw it in the ocean. " </p><p>?Arab proverb </p><p>The ancient way dances before it walks as the road to spice follows its star anise on a journey that counts indulgences in saintly mace, holy mocha, cinnamon, </p><p>the cardinal point in our floating compass. Let the nose track aroma's empire, </p><p>all those stories, all those young men </p><p>who gave away their riches. </p><p>Corrupted text, pure reader, a worm hole ate its sense. </p><p>The giving away made their wealth. Now I reveal what no sense, no spice on the tongue ever tells the mind. So I pass through the </p><p>eye of a rich man and let him </p><p>dream the feast. </p><p>LEE PETERSON </p><p>Rendering M?lica </p><p>- Grbavica, </p><p>Bosnia Herzegovina, 1993 </p><p>The one on top set his teeth. </p><p>Mama seemed to me </p><p>the stronger one even then. </p><p>The shutters' slats broke the room into lines </p><p>like her fingers </p><p>covering my eyes in the street. </p><p>Under her the slipcover gathered. The little roses closed in her fist. </p><p>They took their time. They took turns </p><p>drinking out of my favorite cup. </p><p>(I thought I would eat my tongue.) </p><p>The wooden feet of the sofa </p><p>creaked against the wooden floor. </p><p>And when they decided it was done </p><p>Mama lay as if sleeping. </p><p>She crossed the room </p><p>and beat the door they'd left open </p><p>until night came </p><p>until we dreamed that pounding. </p><p>March-April 2004 NORTH AMERICAN REVIEW 35 </p><p>This content downloaded from 185.2.32.96 on Sat, 14 Jun 2014 01:51:24 AMAll use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions</p><p>http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp</p><p>Article Contentsp. 35</p><p>Issue Table of ContentsThe North American Review, Vol. 289, No. 2, National Poetry Month (Mar. - Apr., 2004), pp. 1-48Front MatterFrom the Editors [p. 2-2]The 2004 James Hearst Poetry PrizeEach Self [p. 3-3]Thursday, after Dinner at L'amie Donia [p. 4-4]Autistic Child in the Day School [p. 5-5]Squeeze [p. 6-6]Mistress Mango [p. 6-6]You Make Love like a Pinball Machine [p. 7-7]How She Lived [p. 7-7]Father Found in the Rending Room [p. 8-8]Drake's Estero, Point Reyes [p. 8-8]Social Work [p. 9-9]Arriving at X [p. 9-9]Turquoise Sestina [p. 10-10]The Trapeze Artist Resigns [p. 11-11]Philomela's Tongue [p. 11-11]Words with Taloned Claws [p. 12-12]Once, I Wanted to Be Ritchie Valens [pp. 12-13]Corn [p. 13-13]Yellow Light [p. 14-14]Pre-Maternity [p. 14-14]Stubborn Tourist [p. 15-15]</p><p>Dinsmore's Paradox [pp. 16-19]Humid and Mean [p. 19-19]Feed the City [pp. 20-22]It Was That Love of Language Comes Killing in Perfect Comets [p. 23-23]The Mind as Fractal [p. 23-23]When My Mother Looked like Susan Hayward [p. 24-24]GE Toaster, 2-Slice [p. 24-24]Hollowed Be Thy Name [pp. 25-27]Host [p. 28-28]I'm Coming Back [p. 28-28]The Unwinding [p. 29-29]Muscle-Junction [p. 29-29]Map Reading [p. 29-29]Alzheimer's Unit [p. 30-30]The Retiree Royale [p. 30-30]Survivors [p. 30-30]Door [p. 31-31]Self Portrait [p. 31-31]Into the Standing Corn [pp. 32-33]Oystercatchers [p. 33-33]Of the Seven Veils [pp. 34-35]Rendering [p. 35-35]ReviewsReview: Crosscuts: Brief Film Reviews [p. 36-36]</p><p>Poetic Gold [pp. 37-38]Doctors without Degrees [p. 39-39]Living at Treeline [pp. 39-43]Helix [p. 43-43]The Tenth Ladder Is Smoke [p. 43-43]ReviewsReview: Stroke by Stroke [p. 44-44]Review: Synecdoche: Brief Poetry Reviews [p. 45-45]</p><p>In Memoriam: Leo J. Hertzel, (1925-2004) [p. 48-48]Back Matter</p></li></ul>