• the government docks

    The ships come in the deep of the afternoon.
    Foreign men line their rims, leaning over
    the railing like children at the zoo,
    trying to spot women between the warehouses
    in their camouflage of coats.
    They are always disappointed.



    knee high grass

    You may come across pigeons
    like crumbled paper bags
    resting in the knee high grass.

    There was a hard storm last night
    and all their nests were washed away.
    Let them sleep, they've been up

    all night searching for their children.
    Beneath a few of them, broken shells
    ooze death. Tomorrow you will smell them.


    five shades of white

    The first was your grandmother's hair
    after she died. How yellow
    it made her teeth look.

    The second was the old sheets
    on the motel bed. The light was
    thin. You climbed in together.
    How did you come out?

    The third was the skin
    above the gash. He went white,
    but the gash was whiter.
    You remember.

    The fourth was the end of the pregnancy test
    peeking out from between your thighs.
    Then that big dark plus, like a clot of blood
    floating to the surface.

    And this is the last.
    The page is full.
    Turn it.