Kristin Bock
2 poems
**
Copilot
One by one, we blew them off the highways with our lady-colored laser guns.
She had no sense of balance and hung upside down from a handrail in our cockpit.
“Sit down,” I said. “Your baby-doll dress is blocking my vision. They're getting away
in their tan sedans!” She looked at me with these vacant animal eyes and said, “It's time.
Listen for the gales, the trumpets, the tambourines!” “Tambourines,” I asked? She
settled into her seat with a rattle. Then, as if she were actually a doll, her eyes closed
on incline. Leaning near to cup my ear, she whispered “think stars, no, think star nurseries,
think infancy gospels, think trees ripped from their roots and everywhere, windows.”
**
The Barn that Holds
I am a climbing vine
that senses a dying branch
and stops.
You are a sparrow who sings
all the way down the dark hallway
of a garden snake.
We are the barn that holds
the watering can
and the scythe.
**
return to sawbuck 4.3
**
Born in 1969, Kristin Bock grew up in the small farming town of Woodbury, Connecticut. She holds a B.A. in English Literature from Southern Connecticut State University, and an MFA in poetry from the University of Massachusetts, Amherst where she teaches. Her poems have appeared in many literary magazines and journals, including Columbia, Pleiades, Prairie Schooner, The Black Warrior Review, and FENCE. She lives with her husband, artist Geoffrey Kostecki, in Montague, MA, where they refurbish liturgical art for churches throughout New England. Bock is a contributing editor to the literary magazine Bateau, a Massachusetts Cultural Council fellow, and has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize. Her book, CLOISTERS, won Tupelo Press’s 2006 First Book Award and The da Vinci Eye Award. Read an interview here.
**
Copilot
One by one, we blew them off the highways with our lady-colored laser guns.
She had no sense of balance and hung upside down from a handrail in our cockpit.
“Sit down,” I said. “Your baby-doll dress is blocking my vision. They're getting away
in their tan sedans!” She looked at me with these vacant animal eyes and said, “It's time.
Listen for the gales, the trumpets, the tambourines!” “Tambourines,” I asked? She
settled into her seat with a rattle. Then, as if she were actually a doll, her eyes closed
on incline. Leaning near to cup my ear, she whispered “think stars, no, think star nurseries,
think infancy gospels, think trees ripped from their roots and everywhere, windows.”
**
The Barn that Holds
I am a climbing vine
that senses a dying branch
and stops.
You are a sparrow who sings
all the way down the dark hallway
of a garden snake.
We are the barn that holds
the watering can
and the scythe.
**
return to sawbuck 4.3
**
Born in 1969, Kristin Bock grew up in the small farming town of Woodbury, Connecticut. She holds a B.A. in English Literature from Southern Connecticut State University, and an MFA in poetry from the University of Massachusetts, Amherst where she teaches. Her poems have appeared in many literary magazines and journals, including Columbia, Pleiades, Prairie Schooner, The Black Warrior Review, and FENCE. She lives with her husband, artist Geoffrey Kostecki, in Montague, MA, where they refurbish liturgical art for churches throughout New England. Bock is a contributing editor to the literary magazine Bateau, a Massachusetts Cultural Council fellow, and has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize. Her book, CLOISTERS, won Tupelo Press’s 2006 First Book Award and The da Vinci Eye Award. Read an interview here.
Labels: 4.3, fall 2010, kristin bock
