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Three Poems


Linda Russo

“a potato affection, an…”


a potato affection, an earthly dud of a sustenance love

the impotence of patterns

a leaf shoots out green not a metaphor for

the young bus and its careless contents, so driven

sirens and canines

dogged by permanence, filiations

run aground, magisterial, pets on love, linked, embedded voluntarily too

depends on hanging, thoughtful, inward, trite

a burnished dismissal, the consequence

or histories, or policies, or recipes

written then thought then written then thought then written




“The bird and the walker…”


The bird and the walker coexist and the dog.

And the other dogs barking at the dog the

distance spanned underwing. The strange peace of surfaces

grass, asphalt, cement, metal top

of a road sign clasped by birds’ feet. The wooden deck

cool and flat to the bellies of dogs. The gardener, the woman

hands perched on hips, nodding. The dirt is dustbowl hard.

The same cat at this time not chased by the dog. The neighbor

at rest on the phone. The little fictions infrequent

autos transect. Plucked bird’s beak.

The Boren House. Western History Collection. Jacobson Hall.

Lindsey, Jes, Allie, Sarah Plunk.

I would love to go to the foliage shines and chirps, and other chirps,

and others, and the same, the same as the others, and

an adjacent rooster. The matte clouds. Innumerable others adjacent.

Not feeling at a loss, but surely. Hours

accumulated instead. The other side of the walker.

Scooting. Two butterflies practically linked. Train cars.

The dog sniffs at. What were you doing visiting and how

long did you stay. Sixteen of the same butterfly.

How did we finally part. After a long drive to

the falls and around and over the flat surface of our landscape.




“years, years, and years of…”

years, years, and years of hindered loving cookskin

rubremember legs next and avid fluff

doing things that sound me good as ringtone

feminine terrified dress balances fleshly onslaught

“at least I know my tradition is among the contradictions” (F. Howe)

I broke it        well      I broke it well        I broke it
I wanted you to love me       hammer

unconvincing – anthropologist in Iraq explaining us the desire for personal security