Three Seattle Poets, Pt. 3: Zac Fulton

The closing poet in our series on the eminent Seattle writing group King of the Cats: Zac Fulton. Check back at this space, a group interview with these poets comes next!





how i am dumb


i will now chronicle the history of the year of asparagus
and purple name root, and how i am dumb

to my own miraculous birth,
to the past which no one can predict,

which is an island surrounded by crocodiles
where no slave cemetery was ever found,

and the future disappearing into my mouth
whose legacy is dirt, the indifferent handling

by it when i have been unworded, unworlded.
the name of this song is its meaning: we sang

it all through winter, not caring where the words
came from, that year of asparagus

and not much said about anything
which would violate our sense of each other,

where we defined windy as the moment white
peaks appeared on the surface of the lake, silent

as the raising of an eyebrow,
where touching your face

was not a violation, i comprehended
at least seven gestures, almost certain

where one began and another one didn’t,
i couldn’t stop saying Rumplestiltskin

that year of purple name root
and seven comprehended gestures,

soft feet in the soft grass, hands
always touching the familiar thing,

the teapot the measure of our anticipation,
heartbeats the measure of proximity,

we tied ribbons around our wrist that said
be casual, we gave up something we loved

so that we could love something else, that year
of soft feet and hands touching,

multicultural pencils, maps to the coffee table,
the giraffe on said table, the moon full, and the glasses

also full, where miracle was not
a part of our vocabulary but we held

open the door for it, left the teapot on,
the familiar thing.




About Zac: Zaccaria Fulton was born and raised in Virginia. Over the years he has worked as a golf cart attendant, demolition worker, painter, carpenter, substitute teacher, lab technician, soil compaction tester, driller, sandwich maker, glass cutter, building manager, and roller coaster expert. His poetry has appeared in ENNUI magazine and The Turtle Review. Linda Bierds has said of his work: “I really think these are poems.” In 2005 he moved to Seattle, where he currently resides.


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2 responses to this post.

  1. Posted by Maggie on April 2, 2011 at 12:24 pm

    You are actually French, as evidenced by the beret and perky (though perhaps broken?) parasol behind you. I don’t know poetry but do love the last two lines of this. Happy to see you happy.

    Reply

  2. Posted by Bruce Harris on April 2, 2011 at 6:50 pm

    Nice work Z-man. Images patter like rain on a tin roof.

    Reply

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