Horace Mann Elementary
The star charts,
celestial navigation,
I understand nothing.
Hug the moon and smile
like a virgin. The plans
of the universe
are like smoke.
I wind up in places
that just seem to underline
the nature of solitude.
Mrs. Green rapped
my head
as if it were
an astronaut’s helmet.
I wish I could have sent a robot
to school instead of me.
In the space suit of my body,
I resisted whatever it was they were.
(This poem will appear in the Fall 2012 issue of Poetry East.)
There is Nothing to Say
The believers stood growing
covered with blossoms, humming
with bees. The vines grew
on the telephone cables,
the hyacinths had faith
no one would crush them.
There was nothing to say–
this was the perfect world–
the light gave rise to it.
The boy with the kerchief
walked by smoking.
The girl with long legs swished,
a bomb in her handbag.
It was a normal day– nothing
happened. There was nothing to say.
The squirrels balanced like prostitutes
on electrical lines. There
was a collision. The world was at peace.
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