Robert VanderMolen

Sometime later he was hit By a train – head lowered in the cold, Somewhat deaf by the age of 50. Not so repentant as startled, As in a movie where the dying man Gazes at some bird or cloud But still wouldn’t go to church Even if he could be carried. Among those middens of doubt Escaping seemed like a robust plan. But he didn’t know precisely What she was talking about. Her...

How it was, after the babies, One week’s vacation at the shore During late July, trying to isolate A hummock of time in which to be dazed, Beer in the mug, the slant of sunsets, Fried chicken seasoned with sand. All of us thinner, sweat-dried, more prone To anger. With a housecat prowling Through dune grass . . .

And they made a film of it. I’ve forgotten The name of the...

Inside, they were polishing the floor: Planks pried from a sunken schooner Dried out, worm holes intact – so that If you spilled your drink, some of it Could possibly drip into the cellar (which was older than the schooner, walls of river limestone mixed with brick of a trading post called Whiskey Center – during the War of 1812 partisans had hidden behind barrels of...

Meanwhile in Costa Rica the volcano smokes Toucans glide down to the banana plantation – For the moment everything is relaxed. It is snowing in Michigan, but I’m thinking Of the newspaper story in September, Two parrots building a nest on a silo In Montcalm County – Guido points out Alulu shadings above the coverts, Assuming I’m a birder. I like their beaks....

Water muscling to shore at twilight, Muscling over her ribs, the water so warm For September. Thomas Paine said, We just couldn’t stay boys (regarding the colonists) Or something to that effect. Ladybugs gather, covering a pear, Gulls screech about the deserted lighthouse. How agreeable to discover Someone loves you, or even later, That you’ve become a fixture In...