Sharon Dolin – Evening Storm
I want to paint the livingness of appearances.
What of these evening storms
where foam becomes rock—wave
becomes cove. Inside the billow as
you always dreamed it would be
Julie Brooks Barbour – Behind the Door that Will Not Lock
You fill an abandoned house with pine trees. Needles spill from broken windows.
I met a man at a house without a locking door where he grieves over his deceased sister. We locate her spirit in a doll whose eyes blink while its body rests.
It would have been the last thing his mother said
to him, to him and Em, that miserable
visit, early in their marriage,
the final cutting thing
on their way out to the car,
standing before it—
I knew a woman, lovely in her bones,
When small birds sighed, she would sigh back at them;