Thursday, July 19, 2012

Two Poems by William Davies, Jr.

My Wife

She didn’t consider
The dove-tail joints
Or, that it was made
Of Birdseye maple.
Only that the center drawer,
In addition to socks
Contained letters
From Iraq,
A stone butterfly
With one eye,
A trove of birthday cards
Replete with the
Corniest of sentiments:
“Forget a blender lets
Go on a bender.”
Scalloped photographs
Caramelized in
Plastic lunch bags
She would move
Over and over.


Her father ladles
Her into the grass,
A nesting doll
With thick glasses,
A broken toy.
Tiny, barely
Eight years old
Already a dowager
Of hospitals
Brought to this
Girls softball game,
The same as if
Taken to the ER
In the middle
Of the night,
Only now
No siren
Or flashing lights,
Just worse.

He has recently had a poem published in The Cortland Review and poems accepted by The Wilderness House Review and Blue Lyra Review.
He live in rural Pennsylvania with his wife, Theresa, and they bottle our own wine.

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