Clay Matthews

POETRY

“Psalm [On the television we watched a movie]” read by Clay Matthews.

Psalm [On the television we watched a movie]

On the television we watched a movie
that was good and sentimental,
while over the carport the blue moon
snuck through the window like a monster.

As a child I read a book about a little brown bear
and the moon and the wind,
but now having lived through and loved
so many renditions of “Blue Moon of Kentucky,”
I try to humble myself on the couch
and pray to God for the right kind of resolution.

“In this world you will have trouble,”
the good book promises, and I feel them
stacked in the darkest corner of the room.

This is one of those movies where an asshole
turns out to be a pretty good guy
after all, and I don’t know if it was the turning
or the revealing—the reaching a new point
or tearing through the dirt until he found something
that glints, and then gleams, and then glows
as the tip of gold.

I can’t say how traumatized I am
by classic Hollywood cinema, stories
of love and redemption and hope.
The moon shines tonight on me and the one
who proved untrue, love being
ultimately indiscriminate.

In the stories of my youth
I grew afraid when the bear’s candle went out.
Tragically, like you, I stand in awe
at the edge of any conflict,
staring into the long and echoing abyss.

This movie ends in comfort, though,
as movies should. I tuck my daughter in,
and we each pray silently
for things to be overcome in our worlds.

The light through the window
is as silver as treasure: it moves like water.
We sleep sound and silent then.

“Psalm [Some days pain]” read by Clay Matthews.

Psalm [Some days pain]

Some days pain
like the wind coming over you
across a field of tasseled corn
when the rain won’t stop
while water puddles
on the basement floor.
You know it’s not that big
of a deal, and you know this, too,
shall pass, but in a moment
you ask aloud, Really?, like the universe
has orchestrated a symphony
of misery to crescendo
as your wife admits
to another affair or just the day
itself looks too long to bear
from behind your reading glasses.
Your daughter turns thirteen
tomorrow and you weep more
than you used to.
If God has a sense of humor
I think he must love the little side eye
from me, the same one
my daughter gives when I tell her
to get off her phone and make the bed.
We both know by now
when I say “you” in here
I’m really talking about me.
But anyway, you close your eyes
and cling to a prayer
while outside it thunders
and the rain starts going wild.
The water replenishes
or the water rips away; either way
you get your answer.

Clay Matthews has published poetry in journals such as American Poetry Review, Image, Kenyon Review, Appalachian Review, The Southern Review, and elsewhere. His books are Superfecta (Ghost Road Press), RUNOFF (BlazeVox), Pretty, Rooster and Shore (both from Cooper Dillon), and Four-Way Lug Wrench (Main Street Rag Books). He currently lives in Elizabethtown, KY and teaches at Elizabethtown Community & Technical College.

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