Harry Powers  © 2005 All Rights Reserved


my mother broke her arm
again at the hospital the doctor
talks about pins and surgery
one month maybe two
but I canít hear him his mouth
moves like the giant maw
of a drab green crab
Iím so deaf and dumb
I would know this dusky
room IV stand to be a dream
had I not cleaned my own hair
by the handful from the shower
drain this morning

so I sit as she lies waiting
for metal to mend her bones
for summer or for fall
for a giant crab to send her home
I sit pressed by blind luck
and time Ė which strings
digital fire ants hurrying
toward some obscure errand
on the other side of the light
or wherever seconds flee
when more seconds evict them
from the warm nest of the hour
one by one

Marie C. Jones
Copyright © 2005


Marie C. Jones is a poet, teacher, & translator. She earned a Ph.D. in Creative Writing (University of North Texas, 1999). Chapbook: Love Song, with Mass Extinction (Oil Hill Press, 2003). Poems have appeared in Denver Quarterly, Atlanta Review, Prairie Schooner, and other journals.

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