Hallucinations
All afternoon the wind blows lightly
on the curtain, a gentle breeze,
in and out, in and out.
Lying in her bed in the dim room
she watches curtains breathe
in and out, in and out.
No one there, only shadows
of the great horse chestnut
on patterned cotton.
Was it Summer, maybe June,
for pale candles had dropped their bloom,
sometime during the Summer…
But who in the world to care?
The child reads deeper into the shapes,
sees over and over, a leaving car.
Insomniac
Bishop, in her sixties, played ping-pong
in the hallway of her Brattle Street flat.
She had to stand well back to serve,
skittering from side to side across
its polished parquet-wood floor.
According to Lowell’s young friend,
Kathleen, playing at the other end,
Elizabeth was good. I picture her
in a pair of black leather trousers
in low-heeled, slip-on shoes…
The poc-poc-poc-sound, like coughs
as they played late into the winter night.
Rock & Stone
All the same
I’m going back
to find the field
of a single haystack,
the fuchsia hedge
I lay beneath
blanketed for a night
by woven air
and high black sky.
In my mind’s eye
everywhere is squared
by rock and stone.
Oh I must go back,
to see if anything,
even a word,
can be redeemed.
Copyright © Louise C. Callaghan 2017