How Poetry Moves II

by Mary Bass Poulin Issue: Spring 2015
Like waiting for a kettle
               to boil on low, you watch
                           for the phoebe’s tiny eggs

to hatch, you take photos
               with your smart phone,
                           you upset the mother,

and with all the dogs and cats
               and people upon people
                           coming and going and

slamming doors, you give
               up hope of any live egg,
                           when one day, you look,

there in the nest, are two fuzzy tufts
               and the smallest beaks you have
                           ever witnessed open upward,

demanding:     more, more.


Mary Bass Poulin’s poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Southern Poetry Review, Eclipse, Pearl, Spillway, Café Review, Stolen Island Review, Front Range Review, Progenitor, and elsewhere. Selections of poems and her chapbook, Notes on Common Suffering, have received several finalist and honorable mentions in national contests. Poulin has an MFA from Vermont College and lives in the western mountains of Maine.