by Bruce Holsapple

Four wood rats drowned
in a rain barrel, after recent storms
not all at once — one after another
repeated the same mistake
jumped in & couldn’t swim out
crawling thru their soggy pals
Why they persisted —
curiosity, maybe, I don’t know
it wasn’t thirst, but a blind compulsion —
that’s what wood rats do
& you’d say their stupidity
entirely their own,
but that’s not likely
what haunts you

by Bruce Holsapple

Small moth folded dusty white
on the Desk Encyclopedia
zonked by the lamp I’d guess
but who could argue that, given
a disposition for light
At least it’s no longer flitting about
getting helplessly singed
I’m dumbly grateful for that
as insects rotate around this desk
no way to redress the pain
their tight insane circling
navigation systems jammed
expire in despair

by Bruce Holsapple

Opened window by the sink
dark wind clattering
thru wood blinds —
reminds me, washing dishes,
of an island breeze
& it is, sort of, me isolated
in the desert highlands

follow the associations:    wind kitchen light
shades (shad) ocean    Long Island beach
friend Peter
dead now 16 years

Us sitting on a windy beach
looking out at a bungalow
way back, where a writer we knew
used to spend weekends, an expensive getaway
thinking him privileged —

Inside that getaway myself now
how the wheel’s spun round
Peter haunting me
the mixed sense of exile
& occasion

big windows, tile floor
a privileged view
by fact of these dry stony mountains
the reddish landscape
scattered juniper

puts a hitch in my step
stops my breath
walking out on the porch at dawn

by Marc Swan

In the kitchen by a stash of red wine,
I meet Alice from Bucks County,
a dentist with a story. She’s been
married, widowed, remarried. She’s
been in the Navy, traveled to distant
lands — Madagascar, Africa, the Far
East, but what catches my ear is two
weeks post–Katrina. I try to imagine
the setting: PPE suit, unrelenting
heat, humidity, the overarching stench
of floaters drawn out of contaminated
floodwaters thick with muck. She talks
of stages: first, if any skin remained,
the check for piercings, tattoos, scars
then orthopedic devices, implants,
finally teeth. She examined each tooth
creating a dental profile, another dentist
did the same and they compared.
If a match, they searched a dental data
base for a name. I ask her what holds.
“The coming together of so many
people to do something useful.” I think
of overwhelming loss recorded, verified
and, the last stage, telling the family
that “yes” we’ve found your loved one.