Sign in with Facebook
Bruce Snider’s Followers (9)
Bruce Snider
|
Paradise, Indiana
—
published
2012
—
3 editions
|
|
|
Fruit (Volume 1) (Wisconsin Poetry Series)
|
|
|
The Year We Studied Women
—
published
2003
—
4 editions
|
|
|
The Poem's Country: Place & Poetic Practice
by |
|
|
A Flame Called Indiana: An Anthology of Contemporary Hoosier Writing
by |
|
|
At Home by the Sea: Houses Designed for Living at the Water's Edge
—
published
2008
—
5 editions
|
|
|
Blood Harmony (Wisconsin Poetry Series)
|
|
|
The Iowa Review
by
—
published
2013
—
2 editions
|
|
“Again, we wake, our neighbor yelling at his son,
poor kid standing by the porch. Tracking mud,
he backs from the shouting, his father's raised fist.
Later, I will see him sulking near our feed shed,
knotting an old piece of garden hose, kicking dust.
I'll smile, ask if he's OK. But right now,
I listen to John's quiet breathing beside me.
Faith, they say, is Abraham asked to slaughter
his boy on a mountaintop. But sometimes
it's just the peeling shed in gray weather,
the leather harness softened, then gone rough.
All day today, the back pond will teem with carp.
The clover will brighten. For now, we lie together
into late morning. Some days, it is enough.”
― Fruit (Volume 1)
poor kid standing by the porch. Tracking mud,
he backs from the shouting, his father's raised fist.
Later, I will see him sulking near our feed shed,
knotting an old piece of garden hose, kicking dust.
I'll smile, ask if he's OK. But right now,
I listen to John's quiet breathing beside me.
Faith, they say, is Abraham asked to slaughter
his boy on a mountaintop. But sometimes
it's just the peeling shed in gray weather,
the leather harness softened, then gone rough.
All day today, the back pond will teem with carp.
The clover will brighten. For now, we lie together
into late morning. Some days, it is enough.”
― Fruit (Volume 1)
“I write my name on his hand.
He laughs. We're drunk.
Anything we say can be taken back.
He leans against me. I push him
down, spilling beer on his shirt.
He says, We shouldn't.
He says, Unbuckle your belt.
I imagine he keeps his eyes open.”
― Paradise, Indiana
He laughs. We're drunk.
Anything we say can be taken back.
He leans against me. I push him
down, spilling beer on his shirt.
He says, We shouldn't.
He says, Unbuckle your belt.
I imagine he keeps his eyes open.”
― Paradise, Indiana
“The Drag Queen Dies in New Castle
Returning home
at twenty-nine, you made
a bed your throne, your
brothers carrying you
from room to room,
each one in turn holding
the glass to your lips,
though you were the oldest
of the brood. Buried
by the barn, you vanished,
but the church women
bought your wigs
for the Christmas pageant
that year, your blouses sewn
into a quilt under which
two newlyweds lay,
skin to skin as if they
carried some sense
of your undressing. Skirts
swayed where sheep grazed
the plow and the farmer
reached between legs
to pull out the calf,
fluid gushing to his feet.
On lines across town,
dresses flapped empty
over mulch while you
kept putting on your show,
bones undressing like
it's never over, throwing
off your last great shift
where a fox snake sank
its teeth into a corn
toad's back, the whole
field flush with clover.”
― Paradise, Indiana
Returning home
at twenty-nine, you made
a bed your throne, your
brothers carrying you
from room to room,
each one in turn holding
the glass to your lips,
though you were the oldest
of the brood. Buried
by the barn, you vanished,
but the church women
bought your wigs
for the Christmas pageant
that year, your blouses sewn
into a quilt under which
two newlyweds lay,
skin to skin as if they
carried some sense
of your undressing. Skirts
swayed where sheep grazed
the plow and the farmer
reached between legs
to pull out the calf,
fluid gushing to his feet.
On lines across town,
dresses flapped empty
over mulch while you
kept putting on your show,
bones undressing like
it's never over, throwing
off your last great shift
where a fox snake sank
its teeth into a corn
toad's back, the whole
field flush with clover.”
― Paradise, Indiana
Is this you? Let us know. If not, help out and invite Bruce to Goodreads.
