Three Poems by Tricia Knoll

 

Spent Staples

 

I hate these unseraphed U’s that crash from the freight train, catch in loopholes.

Sting a bare toe. Jab under a fingernail.

That one beaten and collapsed, schizophrenic in the rain.

They pile up – ant husks in the curved tray in my desk drawer.

 

Misfired. One a victim of righteous whacking,

another my anger at the IRS audit of charitable contributions,

another the way her invoices fell apart

and I forgot which therapy session was which.

 

Can I recycle failures without hurting someone?

The Altar Boy in New Orleans Three Weeks After Katrina

 

Men sprayed our car with decontaminants

before we crossed into the ruined suburb.

 

We had badges, permits, access

to a subdivision where boats floated

 

on top of fallen fences, each other

and cars or into back yards.

 

We’d have to wash our boots

going out, after walking around

 

where I found his Polaroid picture

stuck in flood muck on a driveway.

 

A boy in white robes,

a backdrop of red velvet drapes.

 

A gold halo

over his head.

 

I almost picked him up,

knowing I would need

 

more hand-washing.

Sanitizing.

In The Laundry Room

 

Washed hair twisted in a soggy towel,

she mimes in a steamy mirror

an empress, matriarch of mundane,

poised to begin the laundry.

Of keeping-soul-and-body-together chores,

this is her favourite.

 

In the history of washerwomen’s labour,

hers is simple, efficient. She gathers

discards from baskets, sweat-stained,

garden-grimed, worn-too-many-times

and slopped on fabrics

that cover nakedness,

drape her loved ones’ days.

 

Sort socks turned turbsy

inside outs and right abouts.

Let rusts dance with navies,

and greens toss with jeans.

Spare green/clean soap on mishaps

that do not wash away,

accept stains, wear and tear.

Let sun and wind blow clean

on the line. Maybe tumble

heavy cotton as flying ghosts.

 

How yesterdays circle.

Her running togs; his work clothes;

pale-green towels and the sheets of dreams.

Straighten it out in palm pressing and folding,

strong fingers splayed on warm cloth.

We had that day to live.

Tricia Knoll is a Vermont poet whose work appears widely in journals, anthologies and five collections. How I Learned to be White received the 2018 Human Rights Indie Book Award. Her recent chapbook Checkered Mates came out from Kelsay Books in 2021. Let's Hear It for the Horses (third place winner of The Poetry Box 2021 Chapbook Contest) will be out on February 1, 2021. Website: triciaknoll.com

Tricia Knoll

Living on the unceded land of the Western Abenaki people 

Let's Hear It for the Horses is available at pre-order discount until December 31, 2021.

Checkered Mates from Kelsay Books is now available from Kelsay Books and Amazon. 

Poetry collections -

·  How I Learned to Be White (available on Amazon) received the 2018 Indie Book Award for Motivational Poetry. 

·   Broadfork Farm – poems about a small organic farm in Trout Lake, Washington, its people and creatures is available on Amazon and from The Poetry Box.    

·  Ocean's Laughter, a book of lyric and eco-poetry about Manzanita, Oregon. Look at  Amazon.com or for Reviews. 

·  Urban Wild, a poetry chapbook available from Finishing Line Press that explores interactions of humans and wildlife in urban habitat.