What the News Seemed to Say, poems by S. Stephanie, 2015

Chilly September

That fall, the wind surprised us
from the east. Our flags still snap
and strain like dogs at their poles.

The town pretties the square with pumpkins,
but the ghosts of that autumn
blow about in our memories.

I do not hear the mechanic,
the shoemaker, or the hatter singing.
I hear the boatmen hum with mouths closed.

Poor Whitman, Father of Grief,
the language of my century
I fear even he could not sing.

And though I hear the bells ring
for the Captain, my Captain has a mouth
full of rock, paper, scissors.

—(excerpted from What the News Seemed to Say, S. Stephanie. Igneus Press (2015))