Practicing the Fragment: New Poems

It’s been a while since I posted some poems. It is not for lack of poetry, rather lack of confidence. I feel a bit uneasy about this round of words. Normally not hesitant about posting my work, but that is usually because whatever I post is just a first draft. The first four poems in this set are from the “poem a day challenge” the fifth, a longer poem titled The Four Questions is something I have been working on for the last three days. I just really wanted to write images that coincided with the questions asked…I think I failed, hence my hesitancy. I like the first stanza and the third, but the second and fourth feel way too stretched. I am tossing em’ anyway just so ya’ll can know that the poem a day promise is still going strong! Cheers

 

Treasure

 

In my ordinary heart

In my ordinary words

In my ordinary hands

In my ordinary eyes

In my ordinary breath

In my ordinary grip

And in my ordinary stare

You found something special

 

Eyebrush

 

The brushstrokes

In your pupils

Are every time different

From the last.

 

Dear Daddy,

 

Why would Grandpa leave

Without a smile above his chin?

He’s the only one I know

Who always carries laughter with him.

 

Where Freckles come from

 

I hugged the thought of angels

Kissing me my freckles,

Until I met every angel.

 

On every face, a universe

Of freckles shaped

With your million kisses.

 

The Four Questions

 

Seam along the skin;

Wristroad razor thin.

Time and Time

Again—I see

Flowers, delicate

As bloodpetals,

Retreating—I am

Perpetually, eventually healing—

Otherwise, What is time for?

 

Grieving howl.

Mother with Child

One month old,

Breastfeeding by the window.

The language of labor

With nothing to speak of

Is the wolf nudging her cub’s

Thin chest, testing the future

Of each lessening breath,

Tracing the beginning of the starved belly.

She lifts her head

Without a word is begging

The wolf to believe

I am listening; I’m hearing—

Otherwise, what is prayer for?

 

It’s the word never whispered,

Or the phrase slung

From the holster of a lip,

Blowing out your birthday candles.

For weeks you can’t see

The teeth marks

On your cheek.

You want to speak

About dinner yesterday,

And every day since

Your brother left.

She won’t remember anyway,

So you cradle yourself

Inside the empty corner

Of a church basement

Where a priest might hear—

Otherwise, what is crying for?

 

Our world (meaning),

Smaller than the seed

That mourns the rose

It will become

When autumn comes;

(Meaning) larger than the spirit

Passed back and forth

Between the skin and teeth

Of mother and son. (meaning) Also

The wolf, hungry for forgiveness

From the indifference she met

Through starving; Hungry

For an apology she never met

While stalking time

Into the shadow of sundown,

Muzzle lamenting and tongue dragging,

Sniffing for shade and light—

If wolf and son and mother

Cannot weep and pray,

Lift an ancient moon with ears

Attentive to silent praise,

Beg and not receive,

Or find drips of sun

In swells of shade—

Then what is God for?

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