Nora Almeida – Two Poems

Nora Almeida

Two Poems


fire a spark holds
the lonely mile-marker of
a drinkable-city
never a conversation without

I don’t miss what I can’t
remember the feeling behind

the last time I saw you was the last time
I wore the dress
with the blue-flowers
growing up behind the garage
a little west of here

a breeze through disassociated
limbs and music I have loved

I rub up against
the world with my shoulders
holding up my head
in my own front-yard for some reason
I’m afraid to go back into
my house where nobody else is


Condemnation of anything
climate is a barn of this
picket outside noise from
the closed-up window house
burning cigars so I quit
smoking & still write sentences
to write better Tuesday’s thunder
auxin a stammer without rain
DANDELIONS grew up standing
under the Sprinkler’s a windpipe
my mother’s mouth of sorrow—
“I don’t need this” is a flower
leaked in The ATTIC
space my bedroom is 2 byfour
square route from the garage
is a crank window a boy knocking
around in a rhododendron
PURPLES blackberries & 3 dead
hornets room for 2 cars Milk
DELIVERY approximately 11:30
on Monday June 8th sorrow—
“contemplation is an island”
—Monday June 8th woke up this way
you’d on a walk with 2 birds
& a fog HORN fifteen dog
minutes Uncle Lee got locked out
& sat on the porch whistling Sinatra
walked among us & OVER
OUR HEADs the Sun waxes
like an amphetamine waxes
the sink & the orange light
in a square on the carpet from
visible 3 cows outside & a PEG
Beam to hold up the roof up
America outside with clothespins
Obstruction hot house tomatoes
views of a slow migration closer
to the lake a VISIONARY at the party
put marbles in the hollow
of a collarbone SYNTAXX
on 95 north I was thinking of
the looming Pattern SENSATION
seemed to stretch a long
Shape of a small ache innocuous
yellowLINEcut Clearly
between us. I have 12 dollars
& one box of instant coffee or
I am alone & unthirsty because of it
the tractor is always where
you left the boy sleeping
in an old room with different colors
& blankets same APPLE TREE
outside the smallest ants get in
through the screen my own terrible
sinking EXISTENCE a boat load
of caterpillars & sunburns on the
lawns like the harmonicas are
nostalgic for you calling you
back to the BASEMENT with the flood
LINE the paints & bicycle repair kit
SEASON of a dog or a dream KEYED
his name in the flesh in the table
a voice SOUND in the wall SEEPS
it’s familiar to you

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