Night Poems
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Thank you to my friends, family, English teacher, and my whole poetry class! You were all wonderful sources of feedback and inspiration.Loading...
Table of ContentsSleepless Night..........................................................................................4
A Bedtime Story About Strangers............................................................5
Body Lullaby.............................................................................................6
A Dream About the Backseat of Your Childhood Friend’s Minivan.....7
Portrait of Laika as a Rising Sun..............................................................8
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Table of ContentsSleepless Night..........................................................................................4
A Bedtime Story About Strangers............................................................5
Body Lullaby.............................................................................................6
A Dream About the Backseat of Your Childhood Friend’s Minivan.....7
Portrait of Laika as a Rising Sun..............................................................8
Sleepless Night
After “Nuit Blanche” by Amy Lowell
Each night, amid the buzzing blush of dusk,
A shadow-giant lumbers down my block,
Picks up my house, makes it his lantern-husk—
My bedroom window as his light, he walks
Down past the couple fighting, screaming threats,
And group of girls who giggle while they walk
(They’ll leave for other cities soon, forget
Each other), shoulders brushing as they talk.
The giant pads down to the city’s heart
A field of buildings sprouts between his toes
This high up, sounds unravel, come apart
In strands of siren-songs and roadkill throes
Arriving at the stippled sea, it seems
To coax him into liquid arms below
The hush of foam to share some deeper dream.
Together and apart, our tide-breaths slow
Then, all at once, the yolk of dawn cracks through
And, back through murmurs of commuter trains,
The giant finds your block, returning you
To where we bloom in annual refrains.
We’re planted in our garden, flesh and bone,
We waking giants, loving, loved, alone.
After “Nuit Blanche” by Amy Lowell
Each night, amid the buzzing blush of dusk,
A shadow-giant lumbers down my block,
Picks up my house, makes it his lantern-husk—
My bedroom window as his light, he walks
Down past the couple fighting, screaming threats,
And group of girls who giggle while they walk
(They’ll leave for other cities soon, forget
Each other), shoulders brushing as they talk.
The giant pads down to the city’s heart
A field of buildings sprouts between his toes
This high up, sounds unravel, come apart
In strands of siren-songs and roadkill throes
Arriving at the stippled sea, it seems
To coax him into liquid arms below
The hush of foam to share some deeper dream.
Together and apart, our tide-breaths slow
Then, all at once, the yolk of dawn cracks through
And, back through murmurs of commuter trains,
The giant finds your block, returning you
To where we bloom in annual refrains.
We’re planted in our garden, flesh and bone,
We waking giants, loving, loved, alone.
A Bedtime Story About Strangers
Open up the storybook and you’ll find
Norma
who had a photographic memory
grinning up at you from the front lawn
Jeff who cl
aimed he had friends in the FBI on the porch
eternally running his finger down a line
of some 60-year-old newspaper
Thais the drinker whispering
something in her husband’s ear
Lois, whose parents died in prison,
Timmy
who waited until everyone was asleep and then
ran from bunk to bunk spraying everyone with water guns in the dark
Hugh
and Jean
and Jan
and Jewel and
a hundred other pressed-flower people creased between the pages
no one remembers the way Lois smiled or
how Jan took her coffee.
no one remembers
the joke Jewel told that one Tuesday evening when the lights were low
and the night was poised like a blue lid about to swing shut over the sky.
no one remembers
no one lives forever
but
the toothy,
two-sugared,
tuesday glory
of having lived at all.
Open up the storybook and you’ll find
Norma
who had a photographic memory
grinning up at you from the front lawn
Jeff who cl
aimed he had friends in the FBI on the porch
eternally running his finger down a line
of some 60-year-old newspaper
Thais the drinker whispering
something in her husband’s ear
Lois, whose parents died in prison,
Timmy
who waited until everyone was asleep and then
ran from bunk to bunk spraying everyone with water guns in the dark
Hugh
and Jean
and Jan
and Jewel and
a hundred other pressed-flower people creased between the pages
no one remembers the way Lois smiled or
how Jan took her coffee.
no one remembers
the joke Jewel told that one Tuesday evening when the lights were low
and the night was poised like a blue lid about to swing shut over the sky.
no one remembers
no one lives forever
but
the toothy,
two-sugared,
tuesday glory
of having lived at all.
A Bedtime Story About Strangers
Open up the storybook and you’ll find
Norma
who had a photographic memory
grinning up at you from the front lawn
Jeff who cl
aimed he had friends in the FBI on the porch
eternally running his finger down a line
of some 60-year-old newspaper
Thais the drinker whispering
something in her husband’s ear
Lois, whose parents died in prison,
Timmy
who waited until everyone was asleep and then
ran from bunk to bunk spraying everyone with water guns in the dark
Hugh
and Jean
and Jan
and Jewel and
a hundred other pressed-flower people creased between the pages
no one remembers the way Lois smiled or
how Jan took her coffee.
no one remembers
the joke Jewel told that one Tuesday evening when the lights were low
and the night was poised like a blue lid about to swing shut over the sky.
no one remembers
no one lives forever
but
the toothy,
two-sugared,
tuesday glory
of having lived at all.
Open up the storybook and you’ll find
Norma
who had a photographic memory
grinning up at you from the front lawn
Jeff who cl
aimed he had friends in the FBI on the porch
eternally running his finger down a line
of some 60-year-old newspaper
Thais the drinker whispering
something in her husband’s ear
Lois, whose parents died in prison,
Timmy
who waited until everyone was asleep and then
ran from bunk to bunk spraying everyone with water guns in the dark
Hugh
and Jean
and Jan
and Jewel and
a hundred other pressed-flower people creased between the pages
no one remembers the way Lois smiled or
how Jan took her coffee.
no one remembers
the joke Jewel told that one Tuesday evening when the lights were low
and the night was poised like a blue lid about to swing shut over the sky.
no one remembers
no one lives forever
but
the toothy,
two-sugared,
tuesday glory
of having lived at all.
Body Lullaby
What absurdity is there greater than the body
A clay-lump of flesh and limbs and sweat
And something called a xiphoid process
And a head that hurts just thinking
About such a strange, bare-skinned
Animal
Still, what miracle is there greater
Than a shared absurdity?
Holding someone else’s hand
Your heartbeats nudging each other
What life is there without the tenderness of a body?
It holds you in the cradle of your hips
Rocks you gently in your seat
Even when you try to sit still
Even when beads of pain
Catch in your joints
When your spine
Bow-strings
The skin on your back tight
Your body will creak out lullabies
Tap heartbeats to you
Where your ear rests against the pillow
When the time comes
It will shut out the lights
What absurdity is there greater than the body
A clay-lump of flesh and limbs and sweat
And something called a xiphoid process
And a head that hurts just thinking
About such a strange, bare-skinned
Animal
Still, what miracle is there greater
Than a shared absurdity?
Holding someone else’s hand
Your heartbeats nudging each other
What life is there without the tenderness of a body?
It holds you in the cradle of your hips
Rocks you gently in your seat
Even when you try to sit still
Even when beads of pain
Catch in your joints
When your spine
Bow-strings
The skin on your back tight
Your body will creak out lullabies
Tap heartbeats to you
Where your ear rests against the pillow
When the time comes
It will shut out the lights
A Dream About the Backseat of Your Childhood Friend’s Minivan
A summer swoon
A swath of swaying road
Ahead
Head turned back grinning at
The girl in the back
Seat
Sweat-stuck legs
Snacks and giggles that leave
Grit in the seams
Sea
takes up the
Whole window
Like a pool you could
Dip your arm in
Whooping songs that
Tear through the blue wind
Like kites
Sunscreen
Salt
Sweat
A sound so sweet
It clings to your hair for days
A summer swoon
A swath of swaying road
Ahead
Head turned back grinning at
The girl in the back
Seat
Sweat-stuck legs
Snacks and giggles that leave
Grit in the seams
Sea
takes up the
Whole window
Like a pool you could
Dip your arm in
Whooping songs that
Tear through the blue wind
Like kites
Sunscreen
Salt
Sweat
A sound so sweet
It clings to your hair for days
Once
before our parents told us not to
we closed our eyes
pressed the heels of our hands
to our eyes as hard
as we could and
we exploded
watched our very own light show
burst into our eye-sockets
felt
our Cupid’s bow
nocked with an arrow of breath
felt
our shoulder blades
like two warm hands on our back
thought
what love there is
in us
before our parents told us not to
we closed our eyes
pressed the heels of our hands
to our eyes as hard
as we could and
we exploded
watched our very own light show
burst into our eye-sockets
felt
our Cupid’s bow
nocked with an arrow of breath
felt
our shoulder blades
like two warm hands on our back
thought
what love there is
in us
Rings in the air
All the way home
Slouched under
The weight of a yellow afternoon
Eyes closed
Lulled by a lazy
belly of heat
Blue bits of the day
Sifting through the air
You can only hear the minivan
Rumble and clatter
Chatter gone to mumbles
From the front seat
A head on your shoulder
Ahead of you
All the time
in the world
All the way home
Slouched under
The weight of a yellow afternoon
Eyes closed
Lulled by a lazy
belly of heat
Blue bits of the day
Sifting through the air
You can only hear the minivan
Rumble and clatter
Chatter gone to mumbles
From the front seat
A head on your shoulder
Ahead of you
All the time
in the world
A Dream About the Backseat of Your Childhood Friend’s Minivan
A summer swoon
A swath of swaying road
Ahead
Head turned back grinning at
The girl in the back
Seat
Sweat-stuck legs
Snacks and giggles that leave
Grit in the seams
Sea
takes up the
Whole window
Like a pool you could
Dip your arm in
Whooping songs that
Tear through the blue wind
Like kites
Sunscreen
Salt
Sweat
A sound so sweet
It clings to your hair for days
A summer swoon
A swath of swaying road
Ahead
Head turned back grinning at
The girl in the back
Seat
Sweat-stuck legs
Snacks and giggles that leave
Grit in the seams
Sea
takes up the
Whole window
Like a pool you could
Dip your arm in
Whooping songs that
Tear through the blue wind
Like kites
Sunscreen
Salt
Sweat
A sound so sweet
It clings to your hair for days
Rings in the air
All the way home
Slouched under
The weight of a yellow afternoon
Eyes closed
Lulled by a lazy
belly of heat
Blue bits of the day
Sifting through the air
You can only hear the minivan
Rumble and clatter
Chatter gone to mumbles
From the front seat
A head on your shoulder
Ahead of you
All the time
in the world
All the way home
Slouched under
The weight of a yellow afternoon
Eyes closed
Lulled by a lazy
belly of heat
Blue bits of the day
Sifting through the air
You can only hear the minivan
Rumble and clatter
Chatter gone to mumbles
From the front seat
A head on your shoulder
Ahead of you
All the time
in the world
Portrait of Laika as a Rising Sun
in collaboration with Hannah Langer
Flaming flower bloomed in space
One week early to the race
Child in a metal womb
Soviet silver tomb
Nose twitches, black eyes glitter
Hole in the atmosphere left behind her
Cracking through with metal jitter
From dusty soil, they craned their heads
Businessmen in cars, children in beds
At the window fingers pressed red against the glass
Among rows of houses and well-trimmed grass
In Laika’s eyes, it all shrunk small
Space, a black dog’s mouth and Earth a chewed-up ball
in collaboration with Hannah Langer
Flaming flower bloomed in space
One week early to the race
Child in a metal womb
Soviet silver tomb
Nose twitches, black eyes glitter
Hole in the atmosphere left behind her
Cracking through with metal jitter
From dusty soil, they craned their heads
Businessmen in cars, children in beds
At the window fingers pressed red against the glass
Among rows of houses and well-trimmed grass
In Laika’s eyes, it all shrunk small
Space, a black dog’s mouth and Earth a chewed-up ball