Jan Beatty Poems

I went looking for the body.

The apple, tree, the river.
Gliding voice, curve of arm,
...

The thing I'll never write is the green leaf
with its rubbery-hard veins, I'll never
write the structure exposed, instead
...

My friend Lou
used to walk up to strangers
and tip them—no, really—
he'd cruise the South Side,
...

Banff, Alberta

The mother elk and 2 babies are sniffing
the metal handle of the bear-proof trash bin.
I remember the instructions for city people:
...

The torso facing east, the head nearly west,
as if she couldn't take in the sight of her
own skin and its failings, its parts spilling
...

After Roselia Foundling Asylum and Maternity Hospital, 
corner of Cliff and Manilla

This is the house I was born in.
Look at it. Asylum.
...

An eater, or swallowhole, is a reach of stream or a tidal area given to violent currents and waves that often upset and/or suck under boats and kayaks and the like as they are attempting passage.
— William Kittredge
The eater, my birthmother, was speaking:
...

You want to know what work is?
I'll tell you what work is:
Work is work.
You get up. You get on the bus.
...

We're sitting in Uncle Sam's Subs, splitting
a cheesesteak, when Shelley says:
I think I should buy a gun.
...