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Shanna Compton

 



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I Declare a Rose                                         

Mamaw’s answer to everything was
dope and salve, such remnants of the thicket
as primeval alligators and orchids.
So what's moss for which masses?
For whose holly with ducklings?
A gar jaw? A trailer hitch?
That damn boat ramp.
Mamaw caught the dishwater
to rinse the okra patch. Her knotty
cypress knees kneading troweled
soil. Her handkerchief so Boraxed,
so lavendered. Her hymn ever-
so baptized, so spring-fed.
Sleep Mamaw. We're singing now.
Your bread bags are folded
in every kitchen drawer.

 


 

Slashy Speakers, Nervy Endings                     

At the drive-in where
there’s nothing to see
but the weeds growing,
the joints glowing, and
the hooligans breaking shit
and making out, I
one time caught a
horror flick. It reminded
me of you. We
guffawed over the screams,
blushed at the sexy
scenes. Back then you
acted like yourself and
I looked like me.


 

The Local                                      

 

Origins are stations

between nothing and

something. A name for this

 

could be home.

Combative notions, points of meeting

between reconciling nationals

 

function like children’s toys in nature—

shared elements of anticipatory glee.

May I watch you play?

 

 

Foosball-quick the thoughtscript

scrolls by and preoccupies

for the entire night a group

 

of people expecting an entertainment

or a film. He originated with her,

we live beyond. The warmth

 

of someone else’s ass left

on the subway seat

is sometimes a comfort.
 


 

Miss Epistolary                                       

  

Dear heartbreak

Dear monkey wrench

Dear hometown

Dear honey

 

How often

How sometimes

Never far from mind

On most days

 

I think of you

Too busy to

I just recalled

I forgot about

 

Your last letter

Your next call

Your worst mistake

Our future here

 

Can’t be too soon

Will sometimes fade

Has puzzled me

Will happen I guess

 

What will you do

How does that sound

Who told you that

Do you regret

 

Yrs with love

All best to you

XOXO

Later

Poems on this page © Shanna Compton 2005-2006.

 



Shanna Compton’s book Down Spooky is available from Winnow Press . Her poems have appeared recently in Puppyflowers, Court Green, Verse, and No Tell Motel. Her love poem to Jacques Pépin appears in The Best American Poetry 2005. She lives in Brooklyn, NY.

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