Today's poem is by Anne Marie Rooney


There is a house to me. When Saturday leaves a gradient

of onion on the floor I open a mouth which is also a corner.

Who can say this also isn't mine? The sparrow of belong-to

has smaller than nowhere to fit. If I could feed the trellis in daisies

I would not. I would not feed the trellis or that which has never sweat

against a a screen door or door. (Which can't be mine

either.) (Each plank fretted up as if mistakenly gardened.)

I would never water the ankles of anything. I think we should begin

at the head, the think-prickle: If I could be paid in water earned back

I would crater the kitchen and stop the smokestack.

Copyright © 2012 Anne Marie Rooney All rights reserved
from Spitshine
Carnegie Mellon University Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission

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