August 2021
Bio Note: I am the author of the poetry collection Kissing the Long Face of the Greyhound, the Russian historical novel Infraction, and several other books. I sell my published poems individually in two vending machines in Chicago—one at a bookstore and one at brew pub—to raise money for a local nonprofit arts organization. My wife and I are serial greyhound adopters, having adopted five ex-racers since 1999.
Waiting for the Tornado
It rains, it rains, it rains. The rain
carves its likeness through the heart
of dirt roads. It sprawls toward indolence
on the lawn. It cures sorrow like salt
on meat. I am alone. In a storm cellar
with two trembling greyhounds. I play
a game of guessing: What is crashing
on the Bilco door? Where is everyone I love?
When will the angry cone of air wobble
its way across little Cable Lake?
But it’s a lousy game—I’m the only player
and the answers, unknown. If the wind
at the vent has a viewpoint, it’s gone mute.
Curious, I tip the door aloft. The hinge
of the Bilco keens. My eyes, about ground level,
witness an upset chair, some ruined tree limbs.
The storm is done. Or never happened.
Blue sky spills thoughtlessly down the rough stairs,
and I am still alone. In a world gone sparkly
and that appeared, once again, benevolent.
The Abyss of Want
So many poems about lust and desire.
My own yearning turns inward.
What I want from myself is forgiveness
and an end to useless anguish.
What I want is for the most loved version
of myself to push upward from the bulb
of my body like a crocus through a darkness
thicker than a starless night, through winter’s
graveyard, into spring’s grand promise, as if
I’ve never done it before, as if I could open
like a flower and drink sunlight.
What I want is the sweetness without
the danger, the fire without the destruction,
the past without the poison. I will never
be young again but neither will I be old.
©2021 Yvonne Zipter
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