Kirby Wright Poems

We sprawl under the ficus
Ten feet apart

In my backyard
...

These days I find blood
In strange places,

Drops falling like rain
...

Enough future for us both.
You could see it looking east.
Here, take my body.
I bloom with memories of you.
...

I stroll Marsden Road in Paihia. Jungles beckon offshore. Boats float in cobalt bays as the ferry churns toward Russell. I’m addicted to snapping pictures, murdering seascapes with clicks. Memories of trips bleed on glossy paper.

A gray couple zombies by eating gelato in sugar cones, moving south for town. I photo their backsides at dusk. I’ve grown tired of marching the frontage road at night alone against traffic, as if heading into headlights reveals things hidden as a child. Sadness in my stride? Say, where’s my hotel?
...

The turtle is gone.
Part of me dies.
22 years in the tank.
Reptile whispers
...

How many dreams haunt your parking lot?
I hold my breath whenever I walk backwards,
Back to Hula-Hoops, rocking horses, and toy
Soldiers. Let umbrellas cover the sun, I’ll swim to
...

How much of what
We talk
Is not for the lover
But the father
...

A gray wing vibrates the sky
Between California and Hawaii.

Below, the ocean corrugates.
...

I sedate
In the coconut breeze,

Ponder the hum
...