Michael Salcman Poems

Like immortal cells growing in a dish
the alien swans multiply beyond our wish
for silent beauty. And the buried day rises as a dream
how to kill the mute swans its theme,
...

In the ether streaming
across a continent
an astral girl materializes
...

My father always carried a penknife
to pare his green apples, raising their skins
in perfect spirals. He never drew blood
slicing his bananas for breakfast,
...

From where they were hiding, my Father said
you could see the truck ride out in the morning,
men and shovels packed in its bed, the guards
...

Shades and graces come in threes: my cousins in Queens
were aunt and uncle to me,
the first I knew as elderly
rich with sandpapered faces
...

Auden was right—our buildings grope
the sky for certainty but are dumb
and blind. In the fierce limbus of my eye
the plummeting birds burn still,
...

Outside the morgue on First
and Thirtieth street, a canopy
has been erected next to
three truck loads of mixed body parts.
...

I'm only half-asleep so I know you're standing there
wondering if I'm asleep. Nope.
It's not easy to rest under this table—
for one thing, there's a strong downward slope
...