Patti Masterman Poems

Back when I was young:

Is God the ornery rascal
Who dailies with our dreams,
...

When the body grows up,
the children inside it die;
where are they now,
if no longer present?
...

The poet wrote, by day and night
Of things, for others, had less light:
He wrote the dawn, into a storm
He wrote the dirt, into a worm
...

The gas station has new owners;
though they do not show themselves much,
there is rumored fresh gas in the tanks.
...

Some days fill with wonder
Some days fill with pain
And some you'll press between the glass
To look at once again
...

I was dreaming of a white space
Had interposed itself between us two-
...

He's under my skin,
My well-hid friend,
An anorexic cast to him;
His bony pallor
...

Heaven's close as a memory,
Death's as far as the poles;
Life's as long as your longest dream-
And short as a springtime Rose.
...

My dreams now are tepid, composed as they are
Of slackened sinews and uncomplicated time,
New rift valleys to dam forgotten faults-
Or the insidious extension, of skeletal fingers.
...

He said, I need a lug wrench
But I heard, I need a hug wench-
And now that we have children,
I don't know what to do.
...