Poems

NEWEST WORK from Frances of the Wider Field, forthcoming from Lily Poetry Review Books, March 2021

POEMS FROM OUR HOUSE WAS ON FIRE (ASHLAND POETRY PRESS, JANUARY 2015)

POEMS from Inkblot and Altar

On the Shoreline

Her vision is unreliable, as are her prayers.
She begs the lake to guide her, but expects nothing
more than this mantra of lapping.  A boat
trolls by, the fishermen nearly indistinguishable
from trees.  In this light, the great blue heron
on the dock could be anything:  a child, or lovers
folding themselves into each other.  It opens its wings;
the span is alarming.  It beckons, urges her
to walk upon the water.  She offers her foot to the surface,
and for a moment, she believes it is possible.

Just Like a Suitcase

She unpacks herself
in his room and bed
and mouth

which surrenders
no declaration apart from:
I have strong arms.

And she supposes he does.

But she can hardly snap shut
and be carried

when he does not understand
what he is holding.

The Space Between

Texarkana and El Paso. Lines
on the road. Telephone poles. The space
between my arrival and your departure.
Your upper and lower lip. This cigarette
and my next drag. The space
between headboard and foot board. Sheet
and skin. Sigh and sleep. A ring
and its finger. Dialtone
and your answer.
My foot and the brake.
the bridge and river.
Your last kiss and this:

On the Shoreline

Her vision is unreliable, as are her prayers.
She begs the lake to guide her, but expects nothing
more than this mantra of lapping.  A boat
trolls by, the fishermen nearly indistinguishable
from trees.  In this light, the great blue heron
on the dock could be anything:  a child, or lovers
folding themselves into each other.  It opens its wings;
the span is alarming.  It beckons, urges her
to walk upon the water.  She offers her foot to the surface,
and for a moment, she believes it is possible.

Just Like a Suitcase

She unpacks herself
in his room and bed
and mouth

which surrenders
no declaration apart from:
I have strong arms.

And she supposes he does.

But she can hardly snap shut
and be carried

when he does not understand
what he is holding.

The Space Between

Texarkana and El Paso. Lines
on the road. Telephone poles. The space
between my arrival and your departure.
Your upper and lower lip. This cigarette
and my next drag. The space
between headboard and foot board. Sheet
and skin. Sigh and sleep. A ring
and its finger. Dialtone
and your answer.
My foot and the brake.
the bridge and river.
Your last kiss and this: