Poem: Noel Shivers

Greensboro Gazette:
Man Found Shot In Garage
Suicide Says Police

Noel shivers in boots
on her front porch
at the close of Autumn.

Absolved of her wifely duties
by a summer's deceasing,
she holds an old, wide shovel.

Noel admits, first, to herself
and then the snowy drive,
that she is tired.

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Poem: Little by little Hank gets to Heaven (Hank - part 1)

I routinely scavenge the dumpsters behind
those apartments next to that Safeway downtown.
It's an easy way to avoid the Good-Will.

Today I found half a bottle of Windex
and a toothbrush and gave them to crazy Hank
so he could clean the maggots out of his leg.

But he pushed them back at me, unwanted,
and muttered something about God's weird way,
Hell on earth, and redemption of human flesh.

Old Hank, he believes in God, a loving God,
but not a God of Good-Will or of giving,
but a God of taking and transforming.

"The maggots don't bother me much," Hank sighs,
"But at night when I sleep, I hear the flies—
the winged angels whispering to their young;
Soon you will fly, but not until you're done."

The hungry cherubs, plump and milky white,
chewing the fat and seeking the light,
making Hank's flesh into their own,
let him know substance is a material loan.

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Poem: The Window

I have not yet accepted my own death.
I live like a knave, foolhardy and blind-eyed.
It sits out there, a shadow on the horizon,
reaching towards me as the sun recedes.

I know it is there, as it is for all who respire.
I cannot see it, through the curtains, through the glass,
blotted out by revulsion and cultivated ignorance.
Perhaps it is best not to know the cape and boot of your pursuer.
The crushed leaves and snapped twigs are mere facts of the folly.
They cannot be uncrushed or unsnapped by my concern.

Endless happiness and disregard of the horizon is unsustainable.
Forced recognition–onus–guides my hand to pull aside the fabric,
contracts the diaphragm to breathe low and hot,
condensing my moisture on the glass,
and with a clean sleeve,
wipe clear a glimpse of mortality.


Inspired by:
“Keep passing the open windows.”
--Lilly Berry
Hotel New Hampshire, by John Irving

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