the muse apprentice guild
--expanding the canon into the 21st century



Sunset, Saltmarsh Pond,
skipping stones: thirteen, fourteen
intersecting rings.

teacher took his class
to the school for the deaf--hands
dance silent laughter

two white doves huddle
above my door together
out of the thunder

We, poets, sit in
lines watching the sea trying
to paint with words.

yellowed with age your
lace trimmed baby clothes folded
in tissue paper

I could do worse than
to be a twig
turning on a strand of spider silk
in the wind

I step out into
a sky so blue you could lean
your back against it.

A crow sits high on
the tallest dead stick; he cries
so loud my son laughs.

two white doves huddle
above my door together
out of the thunder



I remember one pure moment of pleasure:
sitting on Aunt Nan's steps,
springsun on my skin.

That was the year that Jeanie died.
My mother had gone to Florida
to be with Aunt Jean.
I was left with Granny
and my cousins
and my aunts.

The day my mother took the train back
Jean called, crying:
don't take Kelley to the train,
I dreamed
she ran onto the tracks and . . .
Aunt Joyce ran
from next door, crying
the same dream. . .
and Granny said no,
she locked the car doors against me.
She dreamed too.

My mother, on the train two days thanked god:
you didn't bring her, last night, on the long long
bridge near Washington, so high, I dreamed. . .

Golden child.
In pictures my forehead wrinkled, eyes squinted
into glare.
Where is the world
where I ride the nighttrain too?