Poems November 2021
The wasp in the lamp
A dried wasp casts
its shadow—thorax
cinch-waist, sting
—against frosted glass.
Pinned like Icarus
to a globe of white,
its sere lobes fold
into elegant origami.
The year past has
found its cenotaph.
Ghosts waft in
the wind, swarming
into sight, revealing
themselves above
the houses, borne
on filament wings.
—David Yezzi
A Message from the Editors
New to The New Criterion? Subscribe to the premier journal of culture and intellectual life.
Receive ten print and digital issues, plus gain unlimited access to The New Criterion archive.
This article originally appeared in The New Criterion, Volume 40 Number 3, on page 30
Copyright © 2022 The New Criterion | www.newcriterion.com
https://newcriterion.com/issues/2021/11/the-wasp-in-the-lamp