Alicia Suskin Ostriker Poems

I am not lyric any more
I will not play the harp
for your pleasure
...

Going to be an old wrinkly lady
Going to be one of those frail rag people
Going to have withered hands and be
Puzzled to tears crossing the street
...

Now here is a typical children's story
that happens in gorgeous October
when the mothers are coming
...

The downward turning touch
the cry of time
fire falling without sound
plunge my hand in the wound
...

Some claim the origin of song
was a war cry
some say it was a rhyme
telling the farmers when to plant and reap
...

To tell the truth, those brick Housing Authority buildings
For whose loveliness no soul had planned,
Like random dominoes stood, worn out and facing each other,
Creating the enclosure that was our home.
...

They remember the dead who died in the resistance.
It is in sweet tones that they speak of them.
They shake their heads, still, after the dinner
...

Matisse, too, when the fingers ceased to work,
Worked larger and bolder, his primary colors celebrating
The weddings of innocence and glory, innocence and glory
...

Like a bowerbird trailing a beakful of weeds
Like prize ribbons for the very best

The lover, producer
Of another's pleasure
...

And all this while I have been playing with toys
A toy power station a toy automobile a house of blocks

And all this while far off in other lands
Thousands and thousands, millions and millions—
...