Mark Irwin Poems

Sunday mornings I would reach
high into his dark closet while standing
on a chair and tiptoeing reach
higher, touching, sometimes fumbling
...

He wore a little spiraled hat and wrote a song
that everyone sang. He lived on the mountainside
above a lake with a mythical beast he'd subdued.
...

The hummingbird hovers over bougainvillea, darting in and out
of blossoms as the bride throws

her corset among laughter and waving hands. Seeing you, glass in hand, sunlight
...

"The most beautiful bodies are like transparent glass."
They are bodies of the selfless or of those newly
dead. What appears transparent is really flame
burning so brightly it appears like glass. What
...

Mother came to visit today. We
hadn't seen each other in years. Why didn't
you call? I asked. Your windows are filthy, she said. I know,
...