Brenda Hillman Poems
Comments about Brenda Hillman
In a side booth at MacDonald's before your music class
you go up and down in your seat like an arpeggio
under the poster of the talking hamburger:
two white eyes rolling around in the top bun, the thin
patty of beef imitating the tongue of its animal nature.
You eat merrily. I watch the Oakland mommies,
trying to understand what it means to be "single."
Across from us, females of all ages surround the birthday girl.
Her pale lace and insufficient being
can't keep them out of her circle.
Stripes of yellow and brown all over the place.
—Once more the poem woke me up,
the dark poem. I was ready for it;
he was sleeping,
and across the cabin, the small furnace
lit and re-lit itself—the flame a yellow
"tongue" again, the metal benignly