Jehanne Dubrow Poems

maritime terminology
It means the moveable stays tied.
Lockers hold shut. The waves don't slide
...

I see my husband shooting in Platoon,
and there he is again in M*A*S*H (how weird
to hear him talk like Hawkeye Pierce), and soon
...

We dreamed of glowing children,
their throats alive and cancerous,
their eyes like lightning in the dark.
...

For weeks, I breathe his body in the sheet
and pillow. I lift a blanket to my face.
There's bitter incense paired with something sweet,
...

He kisses me before he goes. While I,
still dozing, half-asleep, laugh and rub my face
...

The dog and I are first among those things
that will not be deployed with him. Forget
civilian clothes as well. He shouldn't bring
...

Tomorrow he would leave again
and I thought why not remove
his clothes once more, fold his shirt
...

One orphaned oak leaf from his uniform.
Loose change. A pair of collar stays. A tube
of mentholated chapstick going warm.
...

Squint a little, and that's my husband
in the photograph, the sailor on the left—
the one wearing a rose composed of ink
and the Little Bo Peep who stands
...

For weeks, I breathe his body in the sheet
and pillow. I lift a blanket to my face.
There's bitter incense paired with something sweet,
like sandalwood left sitting in the heat
...