The Earth Returns Us to Our Loves

A poem by John Barr

For us no harm, no lost limb
or crushed bone.
The Gulf a theater,
we audience to our own
bombardments.

The weather was mild.
That spring birds came to the ship.
At night we smelled the landwind
and imagined new animals
couched in the dark under bare branch.

A great curve downward and away,
the earth returns us to our loves.
A warm wind pesters the ship.
It’s time to wake reliefs.

And there you were on the pier, waving,
etching the air with cries, and I was home.

John Barr’s poems have been published in six books, four fine press editions, and many magazines, including The New York Times, Poetry, and others. John was also the Inaugural President of the Poetry Foundation. His newest book, The Boxer of Quirinal, was published by Red Hen Press and longlisted for the PEN/Voelcker Award for a Poetry Collection in 2024. You can view more of his work on his web site, or Instagram, and sign up for his free newsletter.