Lori Boulard Poems

She collects angels
the way others amass shoes,

or a child collects marbles
...

Sing your song of Harlem!
Raise it up, sing it proud.
Lay out a Lenox Avenue lullaby
swaying with the soul
...

I wander nomadically around our room
awkward and homeless in our bed

All things familiar seem foreign and far
...

It’s Friday night, late
Daylight drank up its last call hours ago
and passed out in the cab on the way home
My body has taken the night off, down for the count,
...

I watch my daughter's reflection
in the bathroom mirror

while her father awkwardly combs
...

Soaring, aerodynamic voice,
Engines purring silk and steel
Scaling effortless in flight
On wings of song.
...

Strings and brass
Depression glass
reflections of an era
...

Wild geese pepper a grey soup sky,
hanging almost too thick for flight.

Colors only shocking by their absence
...

That first smack of water
from the tap against the tile
is where it all ends as day begins.
...

Today is the day I will let it all go.
Pages of words, awkward
and odd, will cease
to consume my valuable time.
...