Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer: The Partners
After thirty years, she knows
he will speak with his mouth full.
He knows her stomach will gurgle
in the silence before they sleep.
Sandy Solomon: While You’re Away
Were it a question not of days but weeks
I’d learn, I’m sure, to sprawl mid-bed, the way,
before we met, I did.
Chard deNiord: I Call Out to You
Any moving object must reach halfway on a course before it reaches the end; and because there are an infinite number of halfway points, a moving object never reaches the … Continue reading
Scott Silsbe: Two Poems
That was the summer of the unrelenting wildflower smoke.
Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer: Some Nights Missing You
like the letter that doesn’t come,
the one I would carefully slit open
and slowly unfold
Sadakichi Hartmann: Why I Love Thee?
Ask why the seawind wanders,
Why the shore is aflush with the tide,
Why the moon through heaven meanders
Like seafaring ships that ride
Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer: Meadow
As if, with open palms,
I could pull this beauty
inside me and carry it with me
until I give it to you—
Alexis Rhone Fancher: Snake/Holding Things Down
I’m going back to Lowe’s to get a bigger, longer snake, my lover says. Get a king snake, I whisper in his ear. I reach between his legs, cop a feel. Yeah, sure, he says, rolling his eyes. A king snake. He gives my roving hand a squeeze. Or would you prefer a boa constrictor?
Laure-Anne Bosselaar: This Longing for Him
Another dawn. Fists in my pockets, I head east
into this street of bungalows
as if I belonged here, among the hundred windows
lit one by one
Laure-Anne Bosselaar: Brief
It happens so often: there — somewhere
in a line, waiting room or store — I see you,
& it’s something about your work-wrecked
hands, cow-lick, the perfect curl of your lips
Sara Teasdale: Old Love and New
Old love, old love,
How can I be true?
Shall I be faithless to myself
Or to you?
Joshua Michael Stewart: The Book of Love
The love my partner and I share is a book we’ve read many times.
Yehoshua November: Notes on Marriage
It was dusk, their home brightly lit.
Through the window,
I glimpsed the gray-haired man lifting his wife
into a dance.
Yehoshua November: Driving Back to College in a Storm
And as I entered the onramp and the highway curved,
I realized I’d forgotten the wayfarer’s prayer.
