Two Poems by Rose Hunter

You As Wreath

on the grass a sign for infinity
over from where the men pull down
what they put up, a marquee
and how the wild horse says
he strangled me, and how does it get like this?

The wreath is unbelievable.

Do you know what I mean when I say
unbelievable? Gotta keep
a sense of humor right? The reason
the wreath is unbelievable

it has just rained
the whites fascia
the reds jelly
donut, raspberry

pastry, carnations. With daffodil
fern, hammers and flames.
She is on fire with this
and I understand she will go back.
I am part jealous, I know
the wreath is a hush

do you know what I mean by a hush?
I mean whipped cream bow
and trailing silk snake

like you’re at a dinner party and you say
something they don’t understand
maybe they are too clever, or the talk
is of philosophers and dirty jokes.


You As Sound

and this is the subsequence
if I’m sitting in the sun
if I’m sitting next to the garden wall
in the sun if I’m sitting in a white
garden chair in the sun
and he’s started singing
egg-yolk orange and pumpkin
a sound to swim through
I can almost forget the staccato, remembering
how you were more often a legato
that’s right, a slurred performance.

More poetry at Used Furniture.

%d bloggers like this: