May Swenson Poems

Body my house
my horse my hound
what will I do
when you are fallen
...

In the pond in the park
all things are doubled:
Long buildings hang and
wriggle gently. Chimneys
...

Blue, but you are Rose, too,
and buttermilk, but with blood
dots showing through.
A little salty your white
...

The binocular owl,
fastened to a limb
like a lantern
all night long,
...

Stop bleeding said the knife
I would if I could said the cut.
Stop bleeding you make me messy with the blood.
...

My dumpy little mother on the undertaker's slab
had a mannequin's grace. From chin to foot
the sheet outlined her, thin and tall. Her face
uptilted, bloodless, smooth, had a long smile.
...

Little lion face
I stopped to pick
among the mass of thick
succulent blooms, the twice
...

Women Or they
should be should be
pedestals little horses
moving those wooden
...

It’s about
the ball,
the bat,
and the mitt.
...

A mouth. Can blow or breathe,
be a funnel, or Hello.
A grass blade or a cut.
A question seated. And a proud
...