Tyrone Guthrie Arts Centre, Ireland
Another day of slant rain
that comes in sheets and obliterates
the landscape for minutes of time
and yet there are spaces between
Our Next Home – Margaret Hasse
I keep dreaming of houses. Last night
I walked through a bungalow with a realtor
who read aloud from a book of poems
called Real Estate. The utterly white paint
Happy the man, and happy he alone,
He who can call today his own:
He who, secure within, can say,
Tomorrow do thy worst, for I have lived today.
Heavy – Hieu Minh Nguyen
The narrow clearing down to the river
I walk alone, out of breath
my body catching on each branch.
Small children maneuver around me.
Often, I want to return to my old body
a body I also hated, but hate less