Carolyn D. Wright Poems

a bed is left open to a mirror
a mirror gazes long and hard at a bed

light fingers the house with its own acoustics
...

Is the woman in the pool of light
really reading or just staring
at what is written
...

If this is Wednesday, write Lazartigues, return library books, pick up passport form, cancel the paper.

If this is Wednesday, mail B her flyers and K her shirts. Last thing I asked as I walked K to her car, "You sure you have everything?" "Oh yes," she smiled, as she squalled off. Whole wardrobe in front closet.
...

I back the car over a soft, large object;
hair appears on my chest in dreams.
The paperboy comes to collect
with a pit bull. Call Grandmother
...

Naturally there would be frijoles tortillas habaneros and queso

there would be a man sharpening knives on a stationary bike

brass instruments and just this one time the absence of mariachis
...

Whether or not the water was freezing. The body

would break its sheathe. Without layer on layer

of feather and air to insulate the loving belly.
...

Night: wears itself away clouds too dense to skim
over the shear granite rim only a moment before
someone sitting in a mission chair convinced 101%
convinced she could see into her very cells
...

The hand was having a hard time holding the pen.

A superficial cut.

A long clear silent night.
...

The left hand rests on the paper.

The hand has entered the frame just below the elbow.

The other hand is in its service.
...

Whether or not the park was safe

she was going in. A study concluded, for a park

to be successful there had to be women.
...