Poems for Persons of Interest

In morte vita On the pool steps my middle son picked up delicately and by just one tentacle a great cockroach – dead but not much crushed, filmy still and flexible, and flung it at his older brother, where it landed feet first and by some combination of cilia and the flub of his polyester top, clung on for several seconds, as if revived.   He jumped and screamed; the insect fell into our laughter, nothing funnier than the sudden simulacrum of death come alive again, but not; so shaking off our dead upon the pavement, we walked on.

Origin Story My eyes were drawn away, watching for cops Through the rear window, when the rest of me, Persuaded by the moans and promises, Became as God, and gave the gift of life. I grew my hair to hide my frown; I wished For ignorance; I whispered awful prayers. But—angels spread the news, the choir sang, and My father stained my boyfriend’s face with blood. The Girls’ Home ripened us with lamentations For broken-hearted couples, unable to Make children of their own. How wonderful To give our babies, and make their lives complete. They only let me hold you once. I should Have made them break my arms to get you back. I told the judge that this was my free choice, Then drank all night alone until I puked.

March Waking All night, rain falling into rain Disturbed my sleep, and when I dreamed, rain fell inside my dream. At daybreak: rain again. Gray light lay over everything, A thin onset of spring Still gloomed with winter. In that light, Pale, cold, and hungering, A Mason jar of paperwhites Like origami birds Filled all the kitchen with their damp Sweet scent. You’d spelled some words In magnets on the fridge door, but They’d gotten scrambled. I Picked out the letters of my name And let the others lie.

Promenade 1 The poodle to the right of the small group has the look of a benign, elder statesman. The people want us to believe they’re moving forward in uncertain times.   2 Olga has seen all too clearly how they’re out of time: the boy with the grey cap, clinging to his mother’s hip, his face like a boiled sweet.   3 The other woman, taupe dress, holds a creature, a marten. Notice the limp front legs.   4 Olga has been kind – their eyes, the tops of heads are hidden below the black umbrella. The man is left-handed, a failed bureaucrat. The woman in blue may be in disguise. We can’t know. If she is a woman, she’ll have taken on the role of governess.   5 We’re meant to think they’re out in nature, that they’re there to search the shade for snakes. More likely, they’ve met the snakes and failed to kill them.   6 The young girl has her own umbrella. It’s not raining on her either.   7 It’s a relief to know it’s a canvas. The rumbling of cannons is somewhere ...