Poetry
The week her grandfather died, she recalleddancing with him at her sister’s wedding,the gardenia, his neatly parted white hair,a tango he likened to snow falling in calm wind.
For just one buck this gaudy one-eyedcheap tin crescent moon is mine,lead painted by some ‘artist’ in Beijing,mysterious mythic glamour brought lowby tawdry colors, already chipped,melodramatic, second-rate
To make it fair, we’ll need to wearthe same number or articlesof clothing and decide whethersocks count as one or two and ifrings and watches count at all.
At sixteen, the good kissrelied on pitch-black darknessduring the seventeen-mile ride to our dairy farmafter we won the basketball gameand my point-guard boy danced with me
She had been here, and now she is gone,leaving her mark like an imprint in snow.Her things are still here, but she has moved on.
when you diethis lady named alicebut probably karenwalks you across the street
I always wanted to be like the wild women in old movieswho have whole storm systems of electric hair,who are earthy and hotten things upand whose great talent is in letting themselvesgo, go, go. Oh, let it be me,
"Always stirfrom left to right,"my mother saidmoving the wooden spoonthrough the chocolate pudding.
After allGrandma stirredfrom left to right.
While Cardinal Swanson flareshis satin sleeves on high to let flythe word of God, the little bird,swift and sweet as a stolen kiss,having lost its way in, seekinga way out, tries flying
In the window, hung on fishing line, three prismed crystal globescatch and refract whatever rays dive down between apartment blocks:kaleidoscoping stars of rose, blue, saffron light dance crazily
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Wisconsin Academy Offices
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Madison, Wisconsin 53726
Phone: 608.733.6633
James Watrous Gallery
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201 State Street
Madison, WI 53703
Phone: 608.733.6633 x25