Gregory Orr Poems

A black biplane crashes through the window
of the luncheonette. The pilot climbs down,
removing his leather hood.
He hands me my grandmother's jade ring.
...

This is what was bequeathed us:
This earth the beloved left
And, leaving,
Left to us.
...

A house just like his mother's,
But made of words.
Everything he could remember
...

Snapping turtles in the pond eat bass, sunfish,
and frogs. They do us no harm when we swim.
But early this spring two Canada geese
lingered, then built a nest. What I'd
...

I felt both pleasure and a shiver
as we undressed on the slippery bank
and then plunged into the wild river.
...

I stood inside myself
like a dead tree or a tower.
I pulled the rope
of braided hair
...

Hunkered down, nerve-numb,
in the carnal hut,
the cave of self,
while outside a storm
rages.
...

The world seems so palpable
And dense: people and things
And the landscapes
They inhabit or move through.
...

I know now the beloved
Has no fixed abode,
That each body
She inhabits
...

Yesterday, against admonishment,
my daughter balanced on the couch back,
fell and cut her mouth.
...