Jean Berrett
Jean Berrett has been publishing poetry since 1973, after she took the first graduate Creative Writing / Poetry course to be offered by University of Wisconsin-Madison. She obtained her MFA in Creative Writing from Eastern Washington University and taught English at College of Menomonee Nation in Wisconsin. Since she first started sharing her work professionally, she has published ninety-two poems. Other publications include translations from Virgil and Lucretius and stories and book reviews. She has two sons and seven grandchildren.
Two Darlings
by Max Hjortsberg
I followed you for no reason at all.
The path was worn and rounded like a trough.
Hoof prints in the dirt, camp robber calling,
The clouds painted in the sky only move
When I blink, thunderheads over the ridge.
The knife in my belt is cold to the touch.
At the dance it was hidden in my boot.
The struggle to survive is violent,
Forgotten after a generation
The bitter taste of blood lost to the palate.
Now what needs doing most comes last of all.
I know that one day you will forgive me.
Later on, alone in the creek bottom,
Let wild rose petals melt on your tongue.
Useless Things
by Max Hjortsberg
The poorhouse on Chicken Creek was torn down
Years ago and now the broke get to live
In their cars, shining metallic turtles
Blending in at the Wal-Mart parking lot.
We’ve got eyes in the sky they like to say.
Aimless on a cloudless winter’s day I’m
Circling, looking for a spot to park,
But really, all we’ve got are feet of clay.
I step on it and we race out of town,
A practiced act like bowing a fiddle,
Returning again as we always do
To our small home, the cradle of the wind.
The tree is old moss grows toward the north.
It’s of no use. We lean against the trunk.
Letter to One’s Elders
by Mark DeCarteret
Rehash what the stars artlessly sold you,
hare-shivering, alert,
the trees starting into ash.
Lowering yourself again. As another sun,
done testing, settles in.
Thousands are doused unintentionally,
then sent off, dared radiant.
Air, detailed, led out by new owners,
traded-in-on or left for dead.
You should only share this with your sons.
How they show interest that felt useless,
ill-fatedly suffered, now feels healing —
a desire to side with the winners
fused with the most soulful of losses.