The Innisfree Poetry Journal

by Glenn Irwin


Finding Poems

She read from the book of poems
as she moved the white onion
softening and spreading
to the side so the celery
could fold into red sauce
that was simmering that we would eat
most of the week.

The pepperoni was sliced;
the house smelled of basil and oregano.
Her hands smelled of garlic.
My hands
on the back of her neck,
the small of her back
smelled of garlic.
But the girls were in the next room
writing their names on windows
nibbling hard yellow cheese.

I know the poet well, I told her.
I had rescued his book from between shelves
in the basement of the library.
It had been borrowed in 1981 and again
in 1995.
I asked her to look at it.
Someone should
occasionally look at it.
To make it whole, I said
To complete the circle.
She said,
There's a blue moon tonight.
You can see it
if you look up.

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