These days won’t abide – my slung love,
my tutor, my boyfriend, my crush. Do you
resist reporting? Are you the detective, leave-
taker, the empty-eyed got? My simplest questions,
church bells threatening the air.
WHAT CROWS DO IN RAIN
‘It’ never occurred. Play this jump. Preserve
your loneliness. It never occurred
to me—sing—in crooked time. Refuse
little sparks at your wings. Every turn
along the trunk is possible
until tunes lose homing vision.
Mom is wiping flour from her hands,
her gold straining at the neck to be precious.
I never noticed the doorway
behind my shoulder until a stranger walked through.
Up in top nooks there’s a cliché looking down;
That’s also yearning, and only that from outside.
Hazel McClure wrote Nothing Moving, a chapbook from Lame House press. Her work has been published in Mirage #4/ Period(ical), the tiny and Coconut. She lives and writes in Grand Rapids, Michigan, where she is a librarian.