Julie Sheehan Poems

I hate you truly. Truly I do.
Everything about me hates everything about you.
The flick of my wrist hates you.
...

This morning, fog banked in, refractory,
of course. Except for one gull, all else blank.
Then dress shoes, lit candles in the heels, flanked
an apse in the dead poet's memory.
...

My son's in his Watch This years. "Watch this!" He throws
open the screen door, races through the kitchen,

returns in a pant. "See that?" Although I'm watching,
I don't. "I'm back before the screen door closed."
...

You chop an onion, bone a breast, cradle
an artichoke's dense, thorny crown, you pluck
a chicken, a leaf, an eyebrow peddling luck
with love, you set a table, you seat, you ladle
...