Clatter of Dry, Black Wings
I sit for an hour or more in a little light, a little dark. My father's here.
confides he's losing his sight, forgetting who I am. Light reveals
strands of hair. My father asks if I remember boiled cabbage,
what he's lost. I can hear a beetle somewhere in the house—
Outside the sun makes landfall. I ask, what hurts? What do you want
Tight Knots And Family Bonds
Grave numbers refer to grave cuts. The groundskeeper smiles
before they died, then dug a room in flat, dark cares.
raindrops as my arms swing through a blur of oak leaves.
as her blood eats away her veins. A fumbling, red muscle
John Harvey directs the Center for Creative Work at The Honors College, University of Houston. He is Resident Playwright for Mildred's Umbrella Theater Company. His poems have been published in Gulf Coast, NAP, Poet Lore, and Whiskey Island. contact
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