This Could Be Quiet
There are and only can be so many
more days like this. This, what the
house is for what the mouth is for.
Whatever other than guessing. What
else but lady jackets. Do you know
how you know if there are cockroaches
she says. You go into the kitchen in
the middle of the night. They scurry.
If you see them scurry they are there.
Here, person, person, here. The box says
“I am so fragile.” Dinner is a room and
bricks and windows. Charming how
charming those buttons, cardigan
buttons all over again.
The bear smells we
smell like radishes
we just smell like radishes.
There is not much else to imagine.
This era is a sign of other kinds of love.
It will all be easier than this,
the flies fly at the wall and say
it will all be easier than this, after this.
The bats in me are the night.
The bats in me are the music.
Licking walls is no way to live.
Bring me a beefcake I will
demonstrate I am a visual person
I draw maps for a living.
Marsh Hawk Review is an online poetry journal sponsored by the Marsh Hawk Press collective. Marsh Hawk Review will appear twice a year, under the revolving editorship of collective members. Each issue will offer a selection of poems solicited by the editor, in addition to new work posted by poets in the collective.