Nocturne (Poem from Church of Needles)

Nocturne

The red snow

shovel leans

beside the post

office door

where the ice

is inches thick. Inside,

a photo exhibit

beside the mail slots:

nocturnal shots,

blurred wings uplifting, a face

caught in the dark,

bare limbs against the silver

screen of sky,

and a moonlit wall

cleaving the field

like a spine.

The handy man

has inward-looking

eyes. He swabs

the floor with a gushing mop,

dashing the handle

in the bucket

so the water slops over

the rim; one arm

in a fresh white cast

like a package

from the butcher.

He shouts a jarring

litany with every

song that comes

on the radio, especially

the ballads.

This isn’t singing. He knows

it’s the safest

way to scream.

 

 

5 thoughts on “Nocturne (Poem from Church of Needles)

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s