Connie Wanek Poems

Butter

Butter, like love,
seems common enough
...

In the democracy of daisies
every blossom has one vote.
The question on the ballot is
Does he love me?
...

I don't know if we're in the beginning
or in the final stage.
-- Tomas Tranströmer
...

There is menace
in its relentless course, round and round,
describing an ellipsoid,
an airy prison in which a young girl
...

Before you knew you owned it
it was gone, stolen, and you were a fool.
How you never felt it is the wonder,
heavy and thick,
...

She leaned over the sink

her weight on her toes

and applied lipstick

in quick certain strokes
...

The wind cooled as it crossed the open pond
and drove little waves toward us,
brisk, purposeful waves
that vanished at our feet, such energy
...

We used to play, long before we bought real houses.
A roll of the dice could send a girl to jail.
The money was pink, blue, gold as well as green,
and we could own a whole railroad
...

Mittens are drying on the radiator,
boots nearby, one on its side.
Like some monstrous segmented insect
the radiator elongates under the window.
...

A flower needs to be this size
to conceal the winter window,
and this color, the red
of a Fiat with the top down,
...