Poems by Henry Finch

My Neighbor the Forgetful Wind

 

 

Monday the pickled beet Monday the sun is red Monday I’d rather call you darling if that’s OK Darling pickled beet red sun

You’re still my favorite ghost but that doesn’t make me a brick and mortar wall you pass through or a neglected piano that plays itself on New Year’s Eve after everyone zigzags the landscape home

Porcupines are plucked by the shoulder of the road as the ground drinks the dew from fallen apples

I broadcast hot peppermint tears to my impossible friends

Simmering water brought to a boil in my stomach

Vicious dreams forcing open the windows

The afternoon light in the fruit trees

In a beehive in a hospital bed in a minute in a handful of basil in a black plastic trash bag of broken dishes in the overused dark forgiveness is lingering

Birds with iridescent breasts and bellies lured me across the Appalachian Mountains years before I wrote this so what I’m saying is let go already

 

 

Leaves on Inauguration Day

 

 

 

These are the bending

celestial fins,

and this is the wine

I poured from a bottle.

It’s finished. This is barren

and there goes our daughter

across the gelid mouth of the lake.

That is our home

between the two ridges.

This is one stiff wind.

And here comes the sea.

 

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Author: Genese Grill

Genese Grill is the editor of 05401PLUS.