Deborah Ager Poems

Rain drenches the patio stones.
All night was spent waiting
for an earthquake, and instead
...

The yard half a yard,
half a lake blue as a corpse.
The lake will tell things you long to hear:
get away from here.
...

Florida

An Airedale rolling through green frost,
cabbage palms pointing their accusing leaves
...

We are what we repeatedly do.
—Aristotle

You know how it is waking
...

Over the fence, the dead settle in
for a journey. Nine o'clock.
You are alone for the first time
today. Boys asleep. Husband out.
...

The city is closing for the night.
Stores draw their blinds one by one,
and it's dark again, save for the dim
...

The factory siren tells workers time to go home
tells them the evening has begun.
When living with the tall man
...

They tell me that your heart
has been found in Iowa,
pumping along Interstate 35.
Do you want it back?
...

When I knew, it was raining.
Winter in decline. I was tired.
You in your soaked shirt diffused
into the western sky bulging with clouds,
...