Shannon Dodson Poems

In lacing of our hands
I see where Jesus stands –
In between our thumbs,
His friends, the crooks and bums.
...

Softly swings the door upon its post,
And in the dusk, muttered curses from our host
Stumbling gracefully over her own feet.
...

I sat on the porch with the evening breeze
And the wolf-dog cried bark, bark, bark,
And made the night feel closer
With that claustrophobic density
...