Community Pool / Love
Poem
(the whirlpool)
It was gritty, where he was sitting
They needed to clean it
.
Then we three there
had stopped talking.
Where I’m from
advertisements are disappearing
into old barns. A hay
field
junky with the sound of red-wings. We show up
most days, we bubbling strangers. An older woman
lowers herself in.
Oh, she says, that’s hot!
What’s your tattoo a
tattoo of? To show him her shoulder,
she turns around.
It’s a picket fence,
a yellow rose threading through. The point is, my Love!
still you appear to me, like a roadside stand.
-Katherine Northop. The poem appeared first in AGNI 80. By permission here.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.