May Swenson Poems

Body my house
my horse my hound
what will I do
when you are fallen
...

In the pond in the park
all things are doubled:
Long buildings hang and
wriggle gently. Chimneys
...

Blue, but you are Rose, too,
and buttermilk, but with blood
dots showing through.
A little salty your white
...

The binocular owl,
fastened to a limb
like a lantern
all night long,
...

Stop bleeding said the knife
I would if I could said the cut.
Stop bleeding you make me messy with the blood.
...

My dumpy little mother on the undertaker's slab
had a mannequin's grace. From chin to foot
the sheet outlined her, thin and tall. Her face
uptilted, bloodless, smooth, had a long smile.
...

Women Or they
should be should be
pedestals little horses
moving those wooden
...

Little lion face
I stopped to pick
among the mass of thick
succulent blooms, the twice
...

It’s about
the ball,
the bat,
and the mitt.
...

A mouth. Can blow or breathe,
be a funnel, or Hello.
A grass blade or a cut.
A question seated. And a proud
...