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
...

The stone strikes the body, because
that is what stones will do.
...

When all the rooms of the house
fill with smoke, it's not enough
to say an angel is sleeping on the chimney.
...

The hats are hungry.
What will they eat?
The funny uncle
puts his hand into his hat
...

Like any other man
I was born with a knife
...

All morning the dream lingers.
I am like thick grass
...

In the background, a saint walks a path
through mountains and a centaur-haunted
...