Tuesday, August 30, 2011



The bar of your right arm at my waist
when you brake too hard. Your condiment
choices: the pink packets that taste
like sweetened chalk dust, two percent
milk splashed in after. Your coffee
the color of black walnut wood.
The house down the street, with fifty
cacti on its blue porch. The thud
of the neighbor’s car door versus
the thud of my own. The green
lettuce, shelved, glistening in the mist
exhaled over the produce, the sheen
of the carrots. The pharmacist’s face,
unhorrified by any illness or drug,
the boy kicking his saxophone case
while he waits on the corner, the hug
he gives his mother when she drives
up, his relief. The owl lifting from the tree
in the dark yard, and the cool air that arrives
one night and stays, though it seems early.


  1. Excellent poem. The rhymes work in well and take their places naturally. In fact it all works very well. The feelings accumulated and stayed with me at the end.

  2. Lovely exercise in what we notice and under what conditions.

  3. Hannah-
    Beautiful imagery. Beautiful writing. I think we take inspiration form similar sources.


  4. I have to scream...I love that you observe down to the sound of the passenger door versus your own....I am always checking that! Would it be redundant if I said that you are the best? : )

  5. Hello my observant one, I'm so glad to know I'm not the only one who notes the sound of different car door thuds :-).

  6. Once again your imagery just floors me.

  7. I especially enjoyed the pharmacist and owl sections.

  8. Like the way you noticed and described the details of everything.. loved the line with Cofee

  9. Each detail packs a wallop, so the whole poem is quite a wallop, esp. with yet another fine ending.


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