Poets Name

Robert Wilson is a teacher and poet living in the Mid-west, my poems have most recently appeared in the Lily Poetry Review and the Pinyon Review.

Robin

 

 

A nest wedged between the lower limbs

of a Chinese maple,

a kind of fruit well within my reach.

Inside the red shade, penny eggs,

pale turquoise, the same color

as that picture from space

of the one remaining earth.

 

I move a safe distance away,

count my breath backwards from three,

and a robin appears, sits cross-kneed

inside her mud and grass porch.

I watch the evening light pass through

her body, her dull orange chest

the color of regret.

 

 

Cancer: A Love Poem

 

 

We waded barefoot along the sandbar,

trespassed up the launch site,

walked the public pier

where we used my fish knife

to carve aliases,

Glow Girl and American Infidel,

in the salt-hardened railing.  

We hid in your parents’ bathroom

where I used your mother’s tweezers

to pull urchin spines out of your foot,

anointed the puncture wounds

with hydrogen peroxide.  

We lay together in the guest bed

where we came up with the perfect alibi:

the sand in the sheets could have belonged

to anyone.

 

And when you spoke in broken

chemo brain English, telling me sea foam

is ocean-scented soap in a hurry,

I kissed your eyelashes that you stopped

cutting to grow out in tiny feral sneers,

and thought of the summer seagrass thick along

the flats, sunlight moving through as easily

as forgiveness is bestowed upon all of God’s

stillborn children