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DZVINIA ORLOWSKY White OrchardI remind myself: one day we wear the faces we deserve. Where would they go without us? Paw raised, the neighbor's dog's eyes are suspiciously dark. Once we cherished them, their uncanny resemblances of dog to master, owner to same square-jawed house, moustache to eyebrow. We didn't stray far from each photograph's black-and-white orchard, almost-ripe faces of cousins. In another life, I would've followed them to my mother's room where she looks up at me, prophetically lifts her finger to a paper cup knocked over. I seen what she names in me now: scant grasses, radiation of birds. Copyright 2006, all rights retained by the poet |
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WENDY HAMMOND Below ZeroSqualls of white confetti Flutter in the sky If I could fly I'd join them In my lace dress —Flurry and burst Like I've never danced before A blast of wild winterness January's whore And I'd swear I loved the cold Morning after The wind's laughter And my remorse That below zero Buried in snow I go with bad intentions I go without my clothes In the freeze of redemption I call each flake by name Before it lands upon my skin Before it beads And melts away Copyright 2006, all rights retained by the poet |
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DZVINIA ORLOWSKY Carpe DiemA fly sticks to a strip, its life work. In Hidden Acres, the town's new development, a man tests a chain saw against a hunk of tree. I drive the long way around anything that reminds me of myself – easy sweets, the greasy, screaming open all night restaurants of my middle-aged blood. A motorcycle cuts across the day's pale lawn leaving behind an empty helmet, its rider passed into oblivion. In my daughter's room sand dollar chimes drop onto the windowsill while two hermit crabs inch toward a damp sponge, a bright green peace sign painted on one shell, a Harley flame on the other. Copyright 2006, all rights retained by the poet |
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