h o m e........
Click when it rains? Yes.
grind like gilt, glass beads and metallic sequins.
One bad break
Be glad when it rains
Even broken, bones gain traction.
let’s get back to the business
Bone spur to memory:
don’t get me wrong—
our future generations
Bones are tools.
Death opens the plot.
One stone lantern
in a bone ceremonial
Try stretching exercises
a little dignity
Remember to bend your knees.
before you are forgotten.
Each chilled gesture
as heavy machinery
You’re the poet laureate of privacy, my husband said.
you skin privacy’s fruit.
That’s nonsensical, I said.
I’m right here in the living room.
the chalk. Admit it—you’re a pupa;
My stepson wanted in.
I said, wasn’t that joke from The Simpsons?
groupie slash divorce lawyer slash
Have you checked your municipal holdings lately?
and even, I suppose, with the fidgety loneliness I’ve been wrestling all my life
what was the seed and what the ground?
was I always weighing the hearts of the dead? And why—
black box proof of faulty wiring
Ho, ho, ho. I’m not listening, I said, flipping pages, not reading now but imagining
Not scout, sniff, private dick,
stop minding my own business!
Who wants popcorn? my husband said, giving up.
the pigeon the patsy the coney the gull
the binding span
the job of bills the bank the cut
Bio: Dorothy Barresi is the author of four books of poetry, American Fanatics; Rouge Pulp;
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