my husband
by the pram pushers
and mailman.
My husband at Home Depot asking
where the bolts are,
the nuts, the screws,
my god, itâs filthy
my husband reading from the news,
my husband cooking French toast, Belgian waffles,
my husband for all
nationalities.
My husband with a scotch, my husband
with his shoes off,
his slippers on, my husbandâs golden
leg hairs in the glow of a reading lamp.
My husband bearded, my husband shaved, the way my husband
taps out the razor, the small hairs
in the sink,
my husband with tweezers
to my foot,
to the splinter I carried
for years,
my husband chiding me
for waiting
to remove what pained me,
my husband brandishing aloft
the sliver to the light, and laughing.
from Court Green
JANE HIRSHFIELD
----
A Common Cold
A common cold, we sayâ
common, though it has encircled the globe
seven times now handed traveler to traveler
though it has seen the Wild Goose Pagoda in Xiâan
seen Piero della Francescaâs Madonna del Parto in Monterchi
seen the emptied synagogues of Krasnogruda
seen the since-burned souk of Aleppo
A common cold, we sayâ
common, though it is infinite and surely immortal
common because it will almost never kill us
and because it is shared among any who agree to or do not agree to
and because it is unaristocratic
reducing to redness both profiled and front-viewed noses
reducing to coughing the once-articulate larynx
reducing to unhappy sleepless turning the pillows of down,
of wool, of straw, of foam, of kapok
A common cold, we sayâ
common because it is cloudy and changing and dulling
because there are summer colds, winter colds, fall colds,
colds of the spring
because these are always called colds, however they differ
beginning sore-throated
beginning sniffling
beginning a little tired or under the weather
beginning with one single innocuous untitled sneeze
because it is bane of usually eight daysâ duration
and two or three boxes of tissues at most
The common cold, we sayâ
and wonder, when did it join us
when did it saunter into the Darwinian corridors of the human
do manatees catch them do parrots I do not think so
and who named it first, first described it, Imhotep, Asclepius, Zhongjing
and did they wonder, is it happy sharing our lives
as generously as inexhaustibly as it shares its own
virus dividing and changing while Pieroâs girl gazes still downward
five centuries still waiting still pondering still undivided
while in front of her someone hunts through her opening pockets for tissues
for more than one reason at once
from The Threepenny Review
BETHANY SCHULTZ HURST
----
Crisis on Infinite Earths, Issues 1â12
I.
Iâm at a poetry convention and wish I were at Comic Con. Everyone is wearing boring T-shirts.
When I give the lady my name, she prints it wrong onto the name tag. I spell it and she gets it wrong again. Letâs be honest: itâs still my fault.
II.
Japanese tsunami debris
is starting to wash up
on the Pacific shore. At first,
they trace back the soccer balls,
motorcycles, return them
to their owners. That wonât last.
There are millions more tons.
Good news for beachcombers ,
begins one news article.
III.
In the â30s, William Moulton Marston invented the polygraph and also Wonder Woman. She had her own lie detector, a Lasso of Truth. She could squeeze the truth right out of anyone.
Then things got confusing for superheroes. The Universe accordioned out into a Multiverse. Too many writers penned conflicting origin stories. Super strengths came and went. Sometimes Wonder Woman held the Lasso of Truth, and sometimes she was just holding an ordinary rope.
IV.
Grandma was doing the dishes
when a cockatiel flew in the open window
and landed on her shoulder.
This was after the wildfire
took a bunch of houses.
Maybe the bird was a refugee,
but it shat everywhere
and nipped. She tried a while
to find to whom it
by the pram pushers
and mailman.
My husband at Home Depot asking
where the bolts are,
the nuts, the screws,
my god, itâs filthy
my husband reading from the news,
my husband cooking French toast, Belgian waffles,
my husband for all
nationalities.
My husband with a scotch, my husband
with his shoes off,
his slippers on, my husbandâs golden
leg hairs in the glow of a reading lamp.
My husband bearded, my husband shaved, the way my husband
taps out the razor, the small hairs
in the sink,
my husband with tweezers
to my foot,
to the splinter I carried
for years,
my husband chiding me
for waiting
to remove what pained me,
my husband brandishing aloft
the sliver to the light, and laughing.
from Court Green
JANE HIRSHFIELD
----
A Common Cold
A common cold, we sayâ
common, though it has encircled the globe
seven times now handed traveler to traveler
though it has seen the Wild Goose Pagoda in Xiâan
seen Piero della Francescaâs Madonna del Parto in Monterchi
seen the emptied synagogues of Krasnogruda
seen the since-burned souk of Aleppo
A common cold, we sayâ
common, though it is infinite and surely immortal
common because it will almost never kill us
and because it is shared among any who agree to or do not agree to
and because it is unaristocratic
reducing to redness both profiled and front-viewed noses
reducing to coughing the once-articulate larynx
reducing to unhappy sleepless turning the pillows of down,
of wool, of straw, of foam, of kapok
A common cold, we sayâ
common because it is cloudy and changing and dulling
because there are summer colds, winter colds, fall colds,
colds of the spring
because these are always called colds, however they differ
beginning sore-throated
beginning sniffling
beginning a little tired or under the weather
beginning with one single innocuous untitled sneeze
because it is bane of usually eight daysâ duration
and two or three boxes of tissues at most
The common cold, we sayâ
and wonder, when did it join us
when did it saunter into the Darwinian corridors of the human
do manatees catch them do parrots I do not think so
and who named it first, first described it, Imhotep, Asclepius, Zhongjing
and did they wonder, is it happy sharing our lives
as generously as inexhaustibly as it shares its own
virus dividing and changing while Pieroâs girl gazes still downward
five centuries still waiting still pondering still undivided
while in front of her someone hunts through her opening pockets for tissues
for more than one reason at once
from The Threepenny Review
BETHANY SCHULTZ HURST
----
Crisis on Infinite Earths, Issues 1â12
I.
Iâm at a poetry convention and wish I were at Comic Con. Everyone is wearing boring T-shirts.
When I give the lady my name, she prints it wrong onto the name tag. I spell it and she gets it wrong again. Letâs be honest: itâs still my fault.
II.
Japanese tsunami debris
is starting to wash up
on the Pacific shore. At first,
they trace back the soccer balls,
motorcycles, return them
to their owners. That wonât last.
There are millions more tons.
Good news for beachcombers ,
begins one news article.
III.
In the â30s, William Moulton Marston invented the polygraph and also Wonder Woman. She had her own lie detector, a Lasso of Truth. She could squeeze the truth right out of anyone.
Then things got confusing for superheroes. The Universe accordioned out into a Multiverse. Too many writers penned conflicting origin stories. Super strengths came and went. Sometimes Wonder Woman held the Lasso of Truth, and sometimes she was just holding an ordinary rope.
IV.
Grandma was doing the dishes
when a cockatiel flew in the open window
and landed on her shoulder.
This was after the wildfire
took a bunch of houses.
Maybe the bird was a refugee,
but it shat everywhere
and nipped. She tried a while
to find to whom it
Similar Books
