← v9n1, Spring 2010
Poetry · Volume 9, Number 1

Bringing in the May, 1941

The window glass blew

into the parlor

like a wish, like the shards

of a dandelion

No moving vans in blitzed

Liverpool, not even horses,

just white rubble strewn

like hawthorn branches—

she pushed the furniture

in a handcart through

the reborn streets

In the coal cellar of the new

house, she sang of the bright

spring fires catching,

blossoming—

They trembled

as the morning light

trickled down in ribbons