2 poems

I asked you to come over

I like the waste, the way

the brown ivy curls

up the backyard wall.

You like the neighbor’s dog.

You roll a spliff and kiss it.

Pulled up in the car

and the car was the same

as before. I’m thinking

I won’t call you anymore.

I’m thinking I’m like

the grey clouds visible through

the bannisters of the porch,

the persimmons shaken

from the tree. I mean to

say that convincingly.

Harvard Square

Routine will do

what it does

77 bus

& distant blue tower

On a bench in gloves

I feel then forget

my fingers

Here’s 77 knocking

Routine will you

leave me when I’m

done dumb & blue

Is there stuff to do

in that tower

Routine

are you sorry

I think I am

86 to Reservoir

in purgatory

Madeline Gilmore has a BA from Williams College and an MFA from Boston University. Her poetry has appeared inArrowsmith, The Brooklyn Rail, The Rialto, Epiphany, and other publications. She is co-editor of Volume Poetry. Born and raised in North Carolina, she now lives in Brooklyn, New York, where she edits art books.