Cynthia Gallaher Poems

Garlic, you poser,
you snowy-hearted non-participant,
lying languid in the pantry
like a cold-shouldered bimbo next to old onion.
...

They are the clowder of panthers
that fled the jungle as cubs,
traveled north to the Lower Nile,
and swore never to grow up,
...

There were more mice, and more mice,
and more and more mice,
and by midnight, there were close to a hundred,
slidin’ and skatin’ on the waxed wood floor,
...

I feel warmth
from hot water pipes,
as I lean against the wall
to pull up my swimsuit.
...