Jane Zwart
Six Memos for the Next Millenium
1.
Broths were easy to come by
and jerky a novelty,
but because the body is slow
to evolve and fear slower,
we referred to the molars we didn’t need
as our wisdom teeth.
2.
We knew. When we found
pelicans tarred, we washed them
with petroleum and called it Dawn.
The difference between grief
and a grievance is that grievances
fit in our hands.
3.
The entropy inside storms declined,
and hurricanes learned to climb
mountains. But the second law
was safe the whole time.
The entropies of wars and fires
rushed to absorb the wind’s slack.
4.
We never stopped loving our kids.
It was you we couldn’t imagine
no matter how much we sang,
no matter how much we roughed it
and talked to robots. About this
we remain unsure how to apologize.
5.
At the end of a war, I saw a banquet
as long as a street. Not a house
was standing, but there was music,
it was iftar, the tablecloths were red.
The human being was never born
who didn’t have to take sides.
6.
Brutalism is no match for moss,
and a chimney is more tentative
than a trumpet vine. Everything true
we had to relearn, whereas the robins
who fashion nests inside prisons
make concessions only to dawn.
Broths were easy to come by
and jerky a novelty,
but because the body is slow
to evolve and fear slower,
we referred to the molars we didn’t need
as our wisdom teeth.
2.
We knew. When we found
pelicans tarred, we washed them
with petroleum and called it Dawn.
The difference between grief
and a grievance is that grievances
fit in our hands.
3.
The entropy inside storms declined,
and hurricanes learned to climb
mountains. But the second law
was safe the whole time.
The entropies of wars and fires
rushed to absorb the wind’s slack.
4.
We never stopped loving our kids.
It was you we couldn’t imagine
no matter how much we sang,
no matter how much we roughed it
and talked to robots. About this
we remain unsure how to apologize.
5.
At the end of a war, I saw a banquet
as long as a street. Not a house
was standing, but there was music,
it was iftar, the tablecloths were red.
The human being was never born
who didn’t have to take sides.
6.
Brutalism is no match for moss,
and a chimney is more tentative
than a trumpet vine. Everything true
we had to relearn, whereas the robins
who fashion nests inside prisons
make concessions only to dawn.
With Love
Today my husband tried to pull a man
from a burning car. He did not save him.
Someone else did, an off-duty cop,
the sort to take a jar of pickles
from someone else’s hands and loose the lid
unceremoniously. I hesitated,
my husband says. He describes the ruched
metal and the trying, arms and angles,
the sound of popping.
I am the hitch
in my husband’s courage. I am the one
who, seeing the flames, would’ve screamed
at him to stay. Who would have
and who would and also who, were it
the other way round—were it him, pinned
and burning—would never forgive
the motorists who didn’t come running,
defying their spouses; who’d never forgive
the ones who hesitated, even the ones
who tried and failed. I am that callous
with love.
from a burning car. He did not save him.
Someone else did, an off-duty cop,
the sort to take a jar of pickles
from someone else’s hands and loose the lid
unceremoniously. I hesitated,
my husband says. He describes the ruched
metal and the trying, arms and angles,
the sound of popping.
I am the hitch
in my husband’s courage. I am the one
who, seeing the flames, would’ve screamed
at him to stay. Who would have
and who would and also who, were it
the other way round—were it him, pinned
and burning—would never forgive
the motorists who didn’t come running,
defying their spouses; who’d never forgive
the ones who hesitated, even the ones
who tried and failed. I am that callous
with love.
--
Jane Zwart teaches at Calvin University and co-edits book review for Plume. Her poems have appeared in Poetry, The Southern Review, Threepenny Review, HAD, and Ploughshares, and her first collection of poems is coming out with Orison Books in February 2026.
Jane Zwart teaches at Calvin University and co-edits book review for Plume. Her poems have appeared in Poetry, The Southern Review, Threepenny Review, HAD, and Ploughshares, and her first collection of poems is coming out with Orison Books in February 2026.