Louise Marie DelSanto Poems

My sister is an African nun
that sits below grass houses
and rocks babies
until the sun goes down.
...

... and I will love you
exactly
the way one consumes
a meal
...

Hardly any man came by her way silently, and
being a perfect lady (with manners and all)
she smiled, and walked past the gentleman
seated in the cafe having capuccino,
...

In the room
behind the door half closed
the stench taking up the corridor
...

And one other thing,
she told me she liked
women and she lit a cigarette
...

Beyond the revolving doors
where steel poles and wheelchairs lined
up like sentinels along neatly placed furniture
and wild ivy tangled in ceramic pots,
...

A phonecall. A faraway voice, but not. A five minute drive, I know.
I hear my mother telling me she is going out Mother's Day
...

It was two years
since he sat at the table
and ate his last breakfast.
...

My sister became a parakeet
I would go to my daughters house
and see her clinging on the screen
of the front window and screeching
...

When death came
Like the fierce rain of Summer
when death came and drained his body
...