Poems by Shields Carol
Entry
... Grandpa who died young kepta diary of sorts which was reallyjust a record of the weatheror how often he was obligedto have his roof repairedor when his taxes went upor the latest news of City Hallbut once, a Sunday, in the year 1925he entered a single word: woeIt shimmers uniquely on the ruled pageso small it makes us wonder and squintbut large enough in its inky powerto unsettle his young-manly scriptand throw black doubt on otherprevious entries: weather tip-topor gingko on Crescent Ave.and even darker doubton us who seize this word woe -- eagerly, eagerly, making it ours ...
Fall
... This is the time of year when golden-agersare taken on buses to view the autumn foliageas though the sight and scent of yellowed treeswill stuff them with beautiful thoughtsand keep them from knowing --as if there were still a trace of undamagedhunger -- for simple beauty, for colours,the sun falling frail on the fretwork of every leaf, the trumpeting surpriseof the earth turning, returning.Amazing the way they sit there oohing and ahhing,behaving themselves and choking back their anger,while non-stop movies play behind their eyesscenes of unfiltered lightand focused rage --God's handiwork, one of them piously announces --and maybe when you get to be that ageyou're willing to take the metaphorsyou get, just to keep going:dried sap, shrinkage, brittleness at the heartor else the blind unthinking leverageof custom, of perverse habit,assembling around a summons to praisewhat is fading, taking the cornersquietly, making the best of things ...
Getting Born
... wing smooth as an office towerThe doctor is dead not only dead but erased "What was his name anyway ...
Letter from a Friend
... Damn you, you were alwaysone to minimize: hormonesyou finally decideas an excusefor my bitch-madness ...
The Methodist Jesus
... face so sweetIt made you want to cryHe was on our level so to speakJust a little kid only holy ...
The New Mothers
... rking lot wherepair after pairthe yellow headlights arcthrough blowing snow --the fathers are coming ...
Old Men
... First to comethe disabling treacheryof languagethe slow spaced notesof speech that detachthemselves and words that freezeup suddenly so much for wisdomthen the surprised foliageof agehoarse phrases that catchin folded throatsbeg your pardon pleaseif you will pleaseexcuse me allow me permit mehelp me forgive me please please ...
Wedding
... The bride stands in whitefullness on the church stepswhile cameras catch a mixedshow of joy and bafflement,sunshine and blinked-back surpriseat the suddenly unfurledafternoon of sentimentand also the blue fixedshock of hurt in her eyeswhen she looks up and seesstorms of confetti hurledwith such precision, such fury thatshe must freeze and ask herself whatit means and if it ever stops ...
