Val Morehouse Poems

Faces of natives turn inward
like talk in uncertain throats.

Small replicas of life eclipse
...

Like a lover he enters my life,
carrying his dark purpose into the bedroom.
Each thing opens to him like a map.
...

There is something raw in the taking,
an ordinary sadness that
blackens in the bottom of the cup.
Here a fly is swatted,
...

Who am I? Why, you’re Mama.
No, I am not. I am your daughter.
Stop foolin’ me!
...

_________For William, who performed this ritual...


Sealed with gases vivid as a flock of monarchs,
...

Inside the morning this heart is a gong
announcing your presence.
See? This skin of mine is but a sheaf of
pale wheat, ripened to nourish another’s need.
...

With knives he carves my woman’s flesh
into new peaks and valleys, cuts
out the center of rebellion,
that audacity of dysfunction,
...

….“We hoped to gently persuade you book-review lovers to head online
in search of our missing Book Review page…” The Contra Costa Times.
...

Dawn's red cap early
over silver spoor tracking
dewprints of the moon.
...

____version from a traditional slave spiritual,
circa 1860’s...
...