Read the Spring 2014 issue of The Penwood Review for this poem.
Saturday, September 1, 2012
Friday, August 24, 2012
by Deidre Price
If Dickinson can do it,
so can I.
A'rowing her way into a wild night,
Miss Emily soothed that soul
with the rock, rock, rocking
of a lovesick lullaby.
I heard of arced backs
in that sleepy attic,
a scream in a chasm.
If Dickinson can do it,
so can I.
Tuesday, August 21, 2012
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
The Geography
of Beverages
by Deidre Price
by Deidre Price
The satisfied
condensation
slides down
the pole of the cup,
this eager
firefighter
both the battle
and surrender.
Streams and
rivers form,
growing and
spreading
legs of a
journey
untraveled.
They unravel
and move
eastward,
westward,
a watery
occupation
across the
coaster continent.
Monday, August 6, 2012
Jack and Jillian
by Deidre Price
by Deidre Price
When he walked, he wandered. It was impossible to separate
the two. Often, Jack had found himself in crowds gathered in places he did not
recognize. As time passed, he would pass with it, within it. Margins had begun
to blur even more frequently in recent days, which led to the repeated
experience of finding himself again and again.
It had been seven hundred eighty-three days since his wife
miscarried their baby, and that made seven hundred eighty-two days since the
morning he woke up to a note instead of Jillian beside him. In it, she wrote
that the pregnancy had afforded her a vision of what the days ahead might be like
with him, so permanent. It was only in the certainty of this pregnancy that she
was finally certain about him. She could never have stayed, but now she had an
explanation for leaving, and that made it easy enough to do.
He had always hated the home. He loved it only because she
was in it. When she left it, he left, too. It sat, this abandoned, warehouse
filled with memorabilia of a time no one wanted to remember. Many days, he sat
the same.
Sunday, August 5, 2012
Eulogy for a Sunflower
by Deidre Price
The hue of you has smiled at me
mornings when only you were awake
and I, the sleepy fellow, met you
with hardly a crocodile smile.
I am sorry I did not blossom back
now that you're gone.
Big and brown bellied,
you grew taller than expected
with leaves that harnessed light,
bringing forth beauty and rest
for lying caterpillars and lipstick ladybugs.
But you moaned and curled in the heat.
I understand now that there comes a season
when everything must wilt,
even you, Sunflower, one so strong
that when winds came, you couldn't bend but just break,
bringing me this hardest lesson:
Sometimes the One who made us has to end us.
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