Chris Bachelder Reads from U.S.!
Christopher Woods photo poem
Thanksgiving on Death Row
Death in photography
|< back to poems
A Medley of Remedies
You were raised in mud. You watched rain fill
A dish of toadstools in milk silenced houseflies.
Then why, later in life,
I lost my husband, young, his body,
In summer you never pulled them from the lawn.
Fastidious, I was.
Perhaps that’s why it seems natural to you:
the wet rag dipped in wood ash
the handful of rice tossed into the guitar box
a woman rubs her cold iron
You step away from the window.
If it’s too cold after siesta,
What is it you fear?
Their pain is real and mine remains a phantom.
You dissolved the bloodstain from your t-shirt
then removed the MIA pin
If there’s a moon after dinner
To ensure a rifle fires well, stuff the barrel
To ensure a jaguar does not toss back your bullets
If someone steals your words,
then press the rim into their heels.
by Luisa Villani