American Life in Poetry

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The first poem we ran in this column was by David Allan Evans of South Dakota, about a couple washing windows together. You can find that poem and all the at Here Tania Rochelle of Georgia presents us with another couple, this time raking leaves. I especially like the image of the pair "bent like parentheses/ around their brittle little lawn."


Anna Bell and Lane, eighty,

make small leaf piles in the heat,

each pile a great joint effort,

like fifty years of marriage,

sharing chores a rusty dance.

In my own yard, the stacks

are big as children, who scatter them,

dodge and limbo the poke

of my rake. We’re lucky,

young and straight-boned.

And I feel sorry for the couple,

bent like parentheses

around their brittle little lawn.

I like feeling sorry for them,

the tenderness of it, but only

for a moment: John glides in

like a paper airplane, takes

the children for the weekend,

and I remember,

they’re the lucky ones—

shriveled Anna Bell, loving

her crooked Lane.


Reprinted from Karaoke Funeral, Snake Nation Press, 2003, by permission of the author. Copyright 2003 by Tania Rochelle. This weekly column is supported by the Poetry Foundation, the Library of Congress and the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. This column does not accept unsolicited poetry.

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