Lee Upton Poems

And these others—what are they?
Not dolomite, sandstone, shist or calcite.
I might include ice—the colorless mineral,
if ice stayed ice.
...

The friend who is concerned
with backdrops, not us,
but what we stand against,
his way of looking at the women
...

An afternoon inlaid with fog
like a little fishing village.

Did I come at the wrong time?
...

The rocks shone like emery boards,
reflective ruins.
Ceremonial without great effort—
like the swaying of a great rope bridge
...

A smell of ammonia or aluminum
and you're here.
You've entered at the side door.
...

If the town celebrates
his roasting
it's their right. He's their hog.
He's pork now.
...

Under the bank of fountains
in the cavern
between the rounded steps some man
...

The church had a crying room—
up at the opposite side of the altar.
Good for the baby.
It was glass on all sides like a tank.
...

To rise from the table
he put his hands upon it—
ate and drank
and played cards upon it.
...

How the season surrounds us and mistakes
itself for some other force,
while we may be left wondering:
What was she doing
...