Frostwriting

Maplewood, Wet Glass

by Peter Waldor

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Maplewood

Mother and son stop for a stick,
black pebble dislodged from asphalt,
to feel a hole in a signpost,
one with pinkie, one with pointer,
to right a dead beetle,
rise, gully, leaf, earring post,
sewer grate with Campbell Foundry mostly rubbed off,
chicken hawk feather,
dream that needs to be dreamed while paused,
question about the earth’s rotation and stillness,
another stick, this one with bud,
spent magnolia blossom rolled and tucked in a tiny pocket,
bottle cap rusted on its edge.
Hand in hand or hands free.
They are also going from one place to another.




Wet Glass

One dry glass placed
inside one wet glass.
A gleaming brunette cockroach

the last
fails to gain traction up
the dimpled glass wall.
How beautiful even the word cockroach!

The one who forgot
to towel the glass is gone.
Will there ever again be a time
she never existed?

Peter Waldor is the author of Door to a Noisy Room (Alice James Books). Recent poems have appeared in the Colorado Review and the The Iowa Review .

Issue 12 contents

Featured

Fiction

Poetry

Postcards