Three Poems by Anne Comerford
One for Sorrow
Hung over
he would regularly
stagger into the yard
carrying the old shotgunSickened
she would clear up
the mess
of blood and black feathers
from beneath the clothesline
where the screeching birds
had gatheredOn the day
he pointed the gun
at her
there was just one magpie
in the garden.
Waiting
Through my quiet tears
I watch distorted shadows
lengthen
on the warm wall
where you sitI tiptoe around you
careful not to mention
this
or talk about
that
or appear upset
or love too muchI cannot reach you
and cannot climb this wall
alone
so I stand back
try to remember who I am
and watch the shadows lengthen.
Feet of a Dancer
He could never resist
a good beat.
It was his skillful movements
his dancing feet
that first caught her eye
seventeen years agothese days
it takes very little
to get him going
a quick dart
thrown across the table
can be enough
to set him offthen
he'll swing her
around and around
before letting her fall
into a dizzy heap
in the corner of the kitchen
his fist never missing
as he punches out
the beat
his dancing feet
digging into her back
quick-steps to her soulthe music stops
the dance is over
she picks herself up
it was his dancing feet
that first caught her eye
how many years ago?