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January 4, 2019 Poetry

Two Poems 

Adriane Quinlan

Two Poems  photo

America

The radio is on a pledge drive

and living in America

is starting to feel like staying 

in the bad hotel.


Nothing to hear but selling

or silence. I’m thinking of the night

you were embarrassed to talk to the clerk.

 

But I’d seen a roach and went myself.

 

And soon we were back

on the highway, dark and free

of all bad things that chase us.

 

Poem for Pope Francis

I’ve never tasted anything.

Stood all my life at an edge waiting to speak,

holding myself back from speaking.

 

In a peaked cap, I’ve flipped burgers

watching the mothers take their seats

along the pale dinette of prayer,

pitying them for how they pitied themselves

beneath monstrous, clouded ceilings.

You have to look at humans as lost

and as a thing worth saving.

 

Walking to my bus along 31st street I passed

The church of St. Francis, eloquent

between two blocky towers

and felt myself pulled into a sweep of prayer,

steeped in the feeling of forgiveness.

image: Carabella Sands


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