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August 26, 2016 Poetry

Two Poems

Michael Wasson

Two Poems photo




Two grandmothers sing          
in the field: I’m told
how aged this song is:
even the dead begin
weeping: now push each
branch in the earth: listen:
the voices of young girls pass
through them: their mother
ended her life: in the quiet
empty autumn: we wait for
a forest: as the upright branches        
tremble: a wind scattering
leaves: like the disgraced
ghosts: shadows of yesterday




a glass
bottle containing
the letter I
wrote: it starts
with the birthday
of your first
born: opening
dear father:
in red & scribbled
is god
a glossy mouth
blown like glass
into pieces. The tongue
flickers flickers
to ignite
this Molotov
I am
on the edge
of your broken bed
holding on
to this bottleneck:
your boy

image: Aaron Burch