{"id":1686,"date":"2021-07-17T14:11:37","date_gmt":"2021-07-17T18:11:37","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/blogs.ubalt.edu\/welter\/?page_id=1686"},"modified":"2021-12-01T16:13:57","modified_gmt":"2021-12-01T20:13:57","slug":"the-opposite-of-knowledge","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/blogs.ubalt.edu\/welter\/poetry-archive\/the-opposite-of-knowledge\/","title":{"rendered":"The Opposite of Knowledge"},"content":{"rendered":"
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\"\"<\/div>\n

<\/p>\n

The Opposite of Knowledge<\/strong><\/div>\n
Michael Atkinson<\/div>\n

<\/p>\n

The thing about secrets is,<\/div>\n
like tabernacles, they\u2019re always opened.<\/div>\n
The deer\u2019s belly was opened<\/div>\n
over the Tyska\u2019s fence, so I could smell<\/div>\n
the organ ghosts as I walked by with the garbage.<\/div>\n
The meat was another secret \u2013<\/div>\n
stored away or sold by the pound<\/div>\n
when the strikes loomed at Grumman,<\/div>\n
where still other secrets were built:<\/div>\n
my father bringing home discarded blueprints<\/div>\n
for radar surveillance planes<\/div>\n
after inhaling a six of tall boys<\/div>\n
in the parking lot and masturbating<\/div>\n
into a condom. Another secret:<\/div>\n
he kept the used rubbers in a shoebox<\/div>\n
in his Chevy trunk, always hunting<\/div>\n
for a discreet dumpster.<\/div>\n
The Oldsmobiles had secrets, too (weak<\/div>\n
head gaskets), the lawns (moles), the woods (…).<\/div>\n
When the sideyard door opened,<\/div>\n
it was always secret, even<\/div>\n
if Sherry Brock came in crashing,<\/div>\n
crying, holding her hand out so<\/div>\n
my mother could see the concentric<\/div>\n
burn circles targeting her palm.<\/div>\n
Ice, more crying, shushes, none of which<\/div>\n
I could understand, despite the opening,<\/div>\n
despite the naked rage and shrill realness.<\/div>\n
Summarily catechized, the blessed things before me,<\/div>\n
I wondered about the tiger lilies<\/div>\n
outside, and why it was that their<\/div>\n
afternoon yawnings revealed nothing,<\/div>\n
but their vespertine closures<\/div>\n
so clearly indicated dreaming, and escape.<\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u00a0\"\"<\/strong><\/p>\n

Michael Atkinson<\/strong>‘s first volume of poetry, One Hundred Children Waiting for a Train (Word Works) won the Washington Prize in 2002. He’s had work in Crazyhorse, Northwest Review, The Threepenny Review, Prairie Schooner, New Letters, and elsewhere. He teaches at Long Island University-Post.
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The Opposite of Knowledge Michael Atkinson The thing about secrets is, like tabernacles, they\u2019re always opened. The deer\u2019s belly was opened over the Tyska\u2019s fence, so I could smell the Continue Reading →<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4562,"featured_media":0,"parent":1261,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"footnotes":""},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/blogs.ubalt.edu\/welter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/1686"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/blogs.ubalt.edu\/welter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/blogs.ubalt.edu\/welter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.ubalt.edu\/welter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4562"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.ubalt.edu\/welter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1686"}],"version-history":[{"count":12,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.ubalt.edu\/welter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/1686\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1844,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.ubalt.edu\/welter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/1686\/revisions\/1844"}],"up":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.ubalt.edu\/welter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/1261"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/blogs.ubalt.edu\/welter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1686"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}