November 2017
Lisa Wiley
wileymoz@yahoo.com
wileymoz@yahoo.com
This September, my colleague and fellow Verse-Virtual poet Perry S. Nicholas were delighted to host poet Molly Peacock at SUNY Erie Community College in Buffalo, NY. She made a guest visit to our classes during the day, and read from her latest collection The Analyst (W. W. Norton and Company) in the evening.
I initially met Molly electronically through the Verse-Verse February '17 issue when we read each other's pages. Perry encouraged me to invite her to our campus to read in her hometown of Buffalo. Molly's animated reading was engaging and beautiful. Her visit inspired these two poems "Walking Around Campus With Molly Peacock," and "Big Apple Rain."
I initially met Molly electronically through the Verse-Verse February '17 issue when we read each other's pages. Perry encouraged me to invite her to our campus to read in her hometown of Buffalo. Molly's animated reading was engaging and beautiful. Her visit inspired these two poems "Walking Around Campus With Molly Peacock," and "Big Apple Rain."
Walking Around Campus with Molly Peacock
And you’ve written poetry
since you were a little girl,
her bouncy white bob,
funky purple glasses declare.
Somehow she knows I devour
words like homegrown peaches
at a roadside farm stand
or feel them sway
like golden sunflowers
blazing in a fresh field.
Her passion for verse palpable.
When she reads “Buffalo” in class,
awful reminds her of Elizabeth Bishop
and Daddy Plath. She speaks freely
of beer bottles flying
across her childhood home.
I want to walk the long way
back to her silver rental car,
so we could exchange more pretty notes.
Female birds, no fancy plumage.
Big Apple Rain
Precipitation is good for poetry--Molly Peacock
I love New York even more when it rains,
the edges of your eyes softening
like a water color canvas
reflected in storefront displays.
Taxi windows glisten with little beads
forming a temporary rosary
as we barter for a forgotten umbrella.
Respect your mother, or you will get wet,
the sidewalk merchant warns.
We duck into Serendipity Café,
wait for the Marilyn Monroe table
perfect for our mother daughter date.
No more American Girl dolls nestled
beside us begging for your affection.
And you’ve written poetry
since you were a little girl,
her bouncy white bob,
funky purple glasses declare.
Somehow she knows I devour
words like homegrown peaches
at a roadside farm stand
or feel them sway
like golden sunflowers
blazing in a fresh field.
Her passion for verse palpable.
When she reads “Buffalo” in class,
awful reminds her of Elizabeth Bishop
and Daddy Plath. She speaks freely
of beer bottles flying
across her childhood home.
I want to walk the long way
back to her silver rental car,
so we could exchange more pretty notes.
Female birds, no fancy plumage.
Big Apple Rain
Precipitation is good for poetry--Molly Peacock
I love New York even more when it rains,
the edges of your eyes softening
like a water color canvas
reflected in storefront displays.
Taxi windows glisten with little beads
forming a temporary rosary
as we barter for a forgotten umbrella.
Respect your mother, or you will get wet,
the sidewalk merchant warns.
We duck into Serendipity Café,
wait for the Marilyn Monroe table
perfect for our mother daughter date.
No more American Girl dolls nestled
beside us begging for your affection.
© 2017 Lisa Wiley
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