Ryan Vine
two poems
**
My Niece
She’s dangerous and shy
and lies, wide-eyed, staring
at the ceiling. She’s
planning the future laid out
before her. And here I hang
with all my worries
above her little crib. Shhhh…
she spits as I float here. Shhhh…
**
Ego Trip
1.
In Country Kitchen, Sandy and Jen
circle their steaming coffees
and scan the surface of my face.
I order eggs over hard.
2.
On the bus, Samuel hands
pieces of paper to those sitting
and standing, to those lost
in passing trees or cars
in the windows beside them. Unfolded
it reads: The evidence points to you.
3.
On the sidewalk,
I float past Donalda,
who makes me float.
4.
Walking into work, Steve
spins in a slow cyclone
of revolving doors and says:
I had a rough childhood.
5.
Wendy grabs my sleeve
in the elevator, and whispers —
Why, if there is no light,
when you walk with your back to it,
does your shadow lead?
6.
I stand in my office, swinging
my jacket around my back
like a big cape, and say aloud
and to no one in particular: I am here.
7.
I lift the phone to my face.
It’s my voice in there.
**
return to sawbuck 1.2
**
Ryan Vine's collection, Distant Engines, was awarded the 2005 Weldon Kees Award and recently released from Backwaters Press. He is assistant professor of English at the College of St. Scholastica in Duluth, MN.
**
My Niece
She’s dangerous and shy
and lies, wide-eyed, staring
at the ceiling. She’s
planning the future laid out
before her. And here I hang
with all my worries
above her little crib. Shhhh…
she spits as I float here. Shhhh…
**
Ego Trip
1.
In Country Kitchen, Sandy and Jen
circle their steaming coffees
and scan the surface of my face.
I order eggs over hard.
2.
On the bus, Samuel hands
pieces of paper to those sitting
and standing, to those lost
in passing trees or cars
in the windows beside them. Unfolded
it reads: The evidence points to you.
3.
On the sidewalk,
I float past Donalda,
who makes me float.
4.
Walking into work, Steve
spins in a slow cyclone
of revolving doors and says:
I had a rough childhood.
5.
Wendy grabs my sleeve
in the elevator, and whispers —
Why, if there is no light,
when you walk with your back to it,
does your shadow lead?
6.
I stand in my office, swinging
my jacket around my back
like a big cape, and say aloud
and to no one in particular: I am here.
7.
I lift the phone to my face.
It’s my voice in there.
**
return to sawbuck 1.2
**
Ryan Vine's collection, Distant Engines, was awarded the 2005 Weldon Kees Award and recently released from Backwaters Press. He is assistant professor of English at the College of St. Scholastica in Duluth, MN.
