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Two Poems


Western Wind

Thunder woke us.

Then we lay
awake in darkness,
listening to the rain.

Neither spoke.

Wind ticked
freshened leaves
against the screen.

Our silence held
no distance, but

the distance
coming months
would bring.

Neither spoke.

For absence, no solace
but presence.

Awake together
in the darkness.

A little longer in
the same bed,
the same weather.
 

Wishes for Fifty

Face worn well, though
well-worn. Not timorous,
no shrinking. A pup's nose
still for the raw and stinky.
Deep pleasure gnawing
your bone of work. Neither
so sapless you can't weep,
nor barked in oak like those
Can't-Be-Wrongs. New songs.
Martini glass astringed
with a drop of dry
skepticism before the gin;
nonetheless, your verre
ever half-full, and trust
enough in the future
to plant asparagus.
It's obvious you'll never
step in that river again.
But let your mind spill
now and then
with rivers you'd skinny-dip
once more if you could.
Sex to wreck the sheets
before you shoot
the breeze. Loneliness
only in tonic doses
for its delicious silences.
And dusks, when memory's
a glass jar dipped from a stream
with curls of murk
wildly turning: let them settle
until the water clears.
So clear it tempts
your sip. Salud
here's water under
all the bridges
you burned.


V. Penelope Pelizzon

32 Poems

Fall / Winter 2016


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