1991 • page 3

Home Poetry 1991 • page 3

June 4

sits atop
the sand pile
brown and wet,
it stains his pants
and fills
his blue plastic shoes.

He bangs his shovel
against the sand
then points and shouts to warn us.
A machine approaching
and withdrawing then approaching,
roaring and growling,
cutting the grass.


June 5   Toni Morrison Quote

There is a loneliness that can be rocked. Arms crossed, knees drawn up, holding, holding on, this motion, unlike a ship’s, smooths and contains the rocker. It’s an inside kind–wrapped tight like skin. Then there is the loneliness that roams. No rocking can hold it down. It is alive. On its own. A dry and spreading thing that makes the sound of one’s own feet going seem to come from a far-off place.

June 6

when you’re just about to leave
your two hour cleaning job
on Thursday night at ten o’clock,
a group of young men
suddenly enter, stare, and
begin shouting in broken English simultaneously.
They kiss your hand,
compliment your shoes,
and drown you in embarrassed attention.


June 10

What risk she took.
I’ll tell you
what risk.
Thirteen days after her period,
and it makes you wonder
about her subconscious.

And his as well.
For when he came
that first time,
an orgasm he said
that started in his head,
he hovered over her
in angry lust and asked,
“A child? Is that what you want?
A child?”

June 10

When I came out of the tunnel
was when I first saw him
tall and thin
curly curly dark hair, long in back,
a jean jacket and jean pants.

I thought, “Oh no,
this is not at all what I wanted.”
For he appeared
an Arab man
looking for youth
and too old for it.