Sandy Longhorn

2 poems

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Triolet on a Dark Day


What comfort is a tree full of European starlings?
They plummet from the sky and hunker down,
roosting on leafless branches, nobody’s darlings.
What comfort is a tree full of European starlings?
We suffer from their bitter barks and snarling,
while they lurch like drunk, macabre clowns.
What comfort is a tree full of European starlings?
They plummet from the sky. I hunker down.

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Letter Sent from the Outpost


The doors in this house all slant and tilt.
Nothing’s level and nothing ever seals.
The light leaks out at night through cracks
I could creep through if I tried. I’d shoot
my tendrils out and slide greenly through
to black. Off-kilter threshold, soft-edged
flesh-hold, rusty lampshades and all.
Container & contender — the wood
moans against the latch. Everything
sodden and swelling. Rain. Rain. Rain.
Gentle clone. There’s little else to report.
Sills and panes weep with moisture trapped
in the pores. If I could, I would rebuild
with you in mind, watertight.
Nothing’s quiet here. Nothing rests.
The blackbirds form a swarm convinced
of their alarm. They squall & squall,
my roustabouts. Attic & cellar —
the rodents rustle dust. The insulation shreds
beneath their feet, molders in their teeth.
Buffeting wind gusts, shaky roof truss,
ten-penny nails and more. The temperature
drops and all the air I heat leaks out. I crouch
before the fire. I’d braise myself, if I could
make it hot enough. Oh, my mockingbird,
when will you sing me back to the sky of my virginity?

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return to sawbuck 3.4

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Sandy Longhorn is the author of Blood Almanac, winner of the Anhinga Prize for Poetry. Her poems have appeared recently or are forthcoming in the American Poetry Journal, Blackbird, Copper Nickel, diode, Free Verse, Redactions, and elsewhere. She has received an Individual Artist Fellowship from the Arkansas Arts Council as well.