Dormouse, Afterwards
VERA KROMS
The table is a morgue of teacups.
The sugar a disgrace.
Mindless as asparagus, the hatter and the hare
lie face down, suffering
from what inhabits them.
The afternoon has been chewed and drunk,
its buckled moments giving
like a broken girdle.
A child in pinafore jammed
decorum.
Among the crockery, I pursue leftovers,
tiny vacancies.
Those below notice must in turn
notice to remain unextinguished.
I rest in mousenaps, heed a white
rabbit polishing his little shoes.
YONI HAMMER-KOSSOY
Greetings from Planet e, Forty Light-Years Away
good peoples
we hope this gets through
your news flog
in these low times
you are not alone
we too have small men
must make
ignore & the love
it’s what must be done
we look out at terrible space
& envy your long years
your sun so ablaze
remember the dark makes way
for almond tree bloom
LIBBY MAXEY
Farm museum, flax country
After scutching came the hackle—
a bed of nails.
In the house, spinning
and winding yarn on the squirrel cage swift.
She was named Thankful
so he could say it
when he came for supper
on a cloud of unmade clothes.