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August 11, 2014 Poetry

3 Poems

Peter LaBerge

3 Poems photo

Atlanta Story

Atlanta is the capital
             and most populous
city of Georgia, with an estimated
             body of 432,000 people.
On Thursday nights, your parents
             go out bowling. We make
macaroni, put in a Hitchcock.
             Atlanta is marked by rolling
hills and dense tree coverage.
             Geographically, the mattress
has lakes, sheets with natural
             structures, mountains. In Atlanta,
we have paused the film—
             your mouth filled and mine
silent and enjoying and filled
             with an undetectable red thrill—
mid-scene with the lady
             whose wide mouth is torn,
then sewn by birds.


Father leads me down to the stream   picks boysenberries   files them spine-style across the grass   pairs colors with emotions   gives passion muskweed green desire sunshine purple   catches the sunshine   desire in his mouth   ties the stems of it with his tongue   sees a cat by the stream   Do you see the cat by the stream?   Father sees the cat by the stream   Father points to the cat   says here kitty here   Father is a good man   who wants me to see the cat by the stream  I think I see the shadow   I think it is curling away.


Field Sermon #21: On Abstinence

The girl doesn’t care about Philadelphia anymore.
About what Elvis would say to that. Today is all about
the bees. It hasn’t been this way since her lips met a bee
in a beer can the summer before seventh grade. This made her
feel like Jesus. Today, the girl hopes
she will be stung in the mirror.


image: Tara Wray