Noah’s Cottage I soft-paddle the canoeon the new lakewhere the lawn used to grow.I see the river flowgrey and patientthen the cottagemoving awayour cottageadriftwith our family memoriesattached to its walls, tucked on shelvesnestled in the sofa we dreamt onafter we played the underwater garden. I sit quietly in the canoewatch the cottagesquare bargeabsorbed by the
Resilience My grandfather’s fierce handshe wiggles fingerstendons and veins glideacross the back of his handsreturn to their place.I press a vein by his wristtrace path to knuckleempty blue vein of bloodwhich finds its way backafter I lift my finger. My grandfather’s thumb padsI press my small one on hiswatch my imprint turn whiteflat depressionplumps up
Steadfast She tells of bones that walk us, unseen, obvious, skull under scalp shin bone, fibula, femur so many bones shape, articulate us. She stares in mirror — candle glow — spies her face tells of twin caverns quiet ponds eye pebbles afloat, tenderly examines cheek bones outline of skull smooth sphere except for angular
American Dream i can’t hold you with this american dream the knuckles are scraped the thighs are bruised and i’m afraid of everything that moves i can’t look into a mirror anymore without repeating what it already knows it doesn’t want me/ i am not home in this skin if I break it will there
Flammable everything was hot to the touch but i didn’t know that i was flammable. no one had ever told me.I barely remember a grown man throwing a match into the tinder of my thighs when i was just a girl. so i went through life burning. i took big drags, i liked the slow
The Retired Dog Catcher Loses His Wife And like those old strays he dogged, wanders Streets and alleys–though no one, he grieves, Is postering his sad, furry face on telephone poles Or offering up to two-hundred bucks If his heart’s own beloved pug is returned, Unharmed, to Jane on 2 Cemetery Drive…. Still, these blessed
Sunrise under the gulf starsa lone seagull cries her fear divides the morning light
Are Magpies Gods or Spy Cameras? Sitting on a ledgeof the steel and glass office blockacross the street on level six,a magpie, sitting at one end. Suddenly this magpie runs,hops, along the ledgesix levels high, looking,watching the world below,or is it? Every so often it stops,peers over the ledge,then runs or hops a little distance,stops,
Two Different Dogs Out on a morning street trek, coming towards me, an elderly woman pushing a stroller with a small grey child in it. Up close I see I need a Spec Saver check up, a little grey Yorkshire terrier. We chat– the lady and I– that is. ‘When she gets tired, she climbs
Night, House Houses made of shadows of hallways dragging footsteps, night’s brooding matter Windows, dark sketches against glass The sky comes down hard inside my head like a disturbing face of black eyes cold as any winter pane smeared as any ink blotter Reaching floor to ceiling the hard chilled air dreams of its own
