Foreign to me how she looks in exile
from herself— bottle-blonde and bruised.
The trill
of Carlos, Carlos drilled into my dreaming
I plug my ears to stop the trespass of
these row-house walls. The throated moans after
the tall Coronas he’s deported
empty to the fence I’ve staked with flags
and pinwheel daisies—just to keep the
field rats out. The cholo squirrels. The rabbits
breeding more than rabbits can afford.
Listen to Kathleen Hellen read this poem:
Kathleen Hellen's work has appeared in Barrow Street, the Cortland Review, the Hollins Critic, Nimrod, Prairie Schooner, Runes, and Southern Poetry Review, among others. Awards include the Washington Square Review andThomas Merton poetry prizes, as well as individual artist grants fromthe state of Maryland and city of Baltimore.
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