April 20, 2009: What We Kept, Megan Alpert
What We Kept
Megan Alpert
We kept the war under our skins
we kept it in our hamstrings
in our bones.
We kept the war in our cereal bowls
in our juice
kept it in our first love
standing in the porch light
waiting to be kissed.
We kept it close
in the hems of our shirts
our face cream
kept it in our bad skin.
We kept it in our driveways
kept it sitting quiet in the yard.
Flying the Bronx River Parkway, 2 a.m.,
kept it in key rings
smashed into tables,
the imprints they left
on our palms.
We kept it door-to-door,
moss-green in hinges.
We kept it mean
under our fingernails
forgotten in our socks—-
Sometimes we stood at the edge
of a blueberry field, birds lit
by the last of the sun,
but under our skins
the whirr-click of the war beginning…
[I really love first person plural (“we”) poems, and am always on the lookout for more — definitely let me know if you come across any. Here’s another one: Sleep Positions, Lola Haskins]
A year ago today: Please Take Back the Sparrows, Suzanne Buffam
Two years ago: It Happens Like This, James Tate
Three years ago: Tantalus in May, Reginald Shepherd
Four years ago: September Song, Geoffrey Hill
