Inside the Yellow Dress

Mary Ann Samyn

Wish You Were Here
Postcard of time, stolen time. And I have such wide need. How can I tell you of all the birds visiting me? First, geese at night — just as you said — flying by the light of the river. No, I mean by the absence of the light of the river. Then, cranes, three: a dream, a painting, a photograph. Also, this paper if you fold it: origami sign of — what? Good fortune against great distances, against exhaustion, or so I’ve read. Remember, you said you wanted birds at parting. OK then, take mine. Let this be the feather in your mailbox.

The Path from You Back to Me
Then just as suddenly the poems returned.
I had said this red room could trap any bird,
it is so loud.

But then it quieted.
And the bird just flew off
as though the hurt never was.

What gesture is extravagant enough now?
What better praise then fine,
I’ll take it —