POLITICAL ACTION
Every time it snows, she walks twelve blocks
and makes a snow angel in front of the Supreme Court
for her son who was shot and killed
two blocks away seven years ago by a boy
who was shot and killed three weeks later.
Does anyone know for sure if vulture shadows
are prettier than the real thing?
Thanks to the telephone, she can cry together
in different cemeteries with her sister
for different sons.
There are so many options. Wear blue socks
to the Rapture or no socks or a different pair
of blue socks or no socks. Visit everyone
she’s not listened to fully and ask,
Will you say that again? meaning everything.
Turn the shade of redwoods into a perfume
and spread it over DC from a plane.
Do you think she could do that?
I think she could do that, but she’s very busy
being clawed to death from the inside out.
The heart is a mouth with an appetite
for itself and winter is coming.
By that I mean, winter is always here.
—from Rattle #84, Summer 2024
__________
Bob Hicok: “I like starting poems. After I start a poem, I like getting to the middle, and after the middle, an end seems a good thing to reach. When the end is reached, I like doing everything that isn’t writing poems, until the next day, when my desk is exactly where I left it, though I am a slightly different person than the last time we met.”
