The Innisfree Poetry Journal

by Marie Pavlicek-Wehrli

News from Mary Street

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.

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