J. Barrett Wolf's Blog (5)

She is a ghost, Now.

A chilling slice of wind that curls

around the hairs of your forearm.

Refusing to leave in such a fashion,

She is a ghost.

Taken not by the disease

that wracked the body,…

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Your skin is translucent, like fine china

I can see just far enough to discern your names,

To feel the spear-tip anger that built your fortress.

I wish I were prettier.

Not just better than the thieves and grifters…

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The back of the truck says:

‘Makes wide right turns’…

I suspect it makes wide wrong turns, too.

This sign says “Runaway Truck Ramp”.

So, how did they know where to…

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A woman returns to what is left of her house…

She bears a mark

On the tip of one finger…

She has been cupped in madness’…

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[ I was asked to write an occasional poem for the tenth anniversary of the Broome County Library. It is more precisely a poetic speech, which I performed at their gala a few weeks ago. I am told it will be done in calligraphy and hung on the wall there.]

It is ten years this library has stood,

open to all who would attend their minds…

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