Vox Populi
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Meg Pokrass: Three Poems
Not Homesick
When I said, I miss America
I meant that what is nestled in my brain feels like a harbor.
When I said I miss America,
what I’m hiding are fragments of time
like unbroken shells
before they cracked.
When the old Scottish man walking
his rabbit-eared dogs
asks me, are ye still homesick lass?
I shake my head,
wonder if I will ever say anything true again.
~~
Pigeon Couple on the Tree Outside My Window
They seem happy together on that slim ridiculous branch,
cooing softly to each other, putting on a love display
as the pipes in my kitchen groan.
There is the regular wind of trucks rumbling by,
but the two are unfazed, branch
buoyant with bird bones, much lighter than hips.
I sit here watching, a ragged voyeur,
hoping that life won’t happen to this couple too soon,
hoping that the crows won’t notice.
~~
First Marriage
We wasted years on
wheatgrass and spirulina, arguing
with kangaroos, worrying
about the tilt of our house.
He called me Scarface.
I called him Petunia.
Even in bed we were missing this,
missing that. So what?
Hip bumping into the living room,
taking turns on the treadmill
at midnight. Hanging up on
friends who didn’t value our wisdom.
Two grown up clowns,
a baby in tow. Slipping into art
house movies we told ourselves
were about our lives.
~~~~
Copyright 2025 Meg Pokrass
Meg Pokrass is an award-winning writer of flash fiction, prose poetry, poetry and hybrid work. She is the founder of New Flash Fiction Review and co-founder of the Best Microfiction series. Her books include The First Law of Holes: New and Selected Stories (Dzanc Books, 2024)
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A fine trio of poems ❤️
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Aren’t they?
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The poem “First Marriage” is deeply affecting. There’s not a metaphor in it, so the literal, personal images carry a particular authenticity and, alas, familiarity.
Robert Stewart
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Spot on, Bob.
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Dear Robert, thank you so much.
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Terrific
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Thank you!
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Here’s a lyric sent to me today by my friend Byron Hoot, who is kind of a hermit in the woods of Pennsylvania:
Light
The light has come,
as it always does,
when I wasn’t looking.
I looked up and there it was.
Unassuming in its presence,
certain of its arrival,
the way it breaks
differently each morning.
The way I catch its first
whisper in surprise.
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That’s beautiful.
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Isn’t it, though? I always think of Byron’s poems as songs a city dweller like myself would never think to write.
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❤️
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Such wonderful, surprising turns. Terrific poems. Thank you.
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Rosemary and Laure-Anne, I’m so glad you enjoy the daily features in this space. It makes me happy to share poems I love.
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Thank you so much!!
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….and I second that, Michael & Jim!
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Thank you so much Laure-Anne. 🙂
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These three poems of Meg Pokrass invite me to riff off them to awaken dormant activity. They tickle my brain into fresh creativity:
The crows queue up at my windowsill
to watch the art house movie…
(and so forth)
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Thanks, Jim. I agree: Meg is a master of the absurd juxtaposition. I’ve admired her work for years.
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This makes me happy!
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