My Patrick they’ve strung the flag full height again
on the hill overlooking the smelter. Before you left
a truck blew in and ripped open a hole from here
to the top of Mary Street. I sat on the porch
all afternoon watching bees big as my thumb
and clumsy-dumb follow the dust uphill
to burrow under the eaves. Now that it’s warm again
they stumble out fur-heavy bumping each other.
Down the street from Carol’s a man shot
first his daughter then his wife. This happened yesterday
just after the boom truck backed up to that blown out
hole I earlier mentioned. I heard one crack-crack
a spell of quiet and then another. I was scared
I’m not ashamed to say it. Your father’s hands
hurt more than ever this past winter. He curls
his fists and hides them.
Poet and visual artist Marie Pavlicek-Wehrli has been a Fellow at both VCCA and the Ragdale Foundation. Her poems have appeared in various journals and anthologies, including Raleigh Review, Watershed Review, Prime Number, and Poet Lore. She holds an MFA/Poetry from Warren Wilson College and is a recipient of a Maryland State Arts Council Grant. Her website is www.mariepavlicek.com.
