The Prediction by Mark Strand (1970)

That night the moon drifted over the pond,  
turning the water to milk, and under  
the boughs of the trees, the blue trees,  
a young woman walked, and for an instant

the future came to her:
rain falling on her husband’s grave, rain falling  
on the lawns of her children, her own mouth
filling with cold air, strangers moving into her house,

a man in her room writing a poem, the moon drifting into it,  
a woman strolling under its trees, thinking of death,
thinking of him thinking of her, and the wind rising
and taking the moon and leaving the paper dark.

Eating Poetry by Mark Strand (1968)

Ink runs from the corners of my mouth.
There is no happiness like mine.
I have been eating poetry.

The librarian does not believe what she sees.
Her eyes are sad
and she walks with her hands in her dress.

The poems are gone.
The light is dim.
The dogs are on the basement stairs and coming up.

Their eyeballs roll,
their blond legs burn like brush.
The poor librarian begins to stamp her feet and weep.

She does not understand.
When I get on my knees and lick her hand,
she screams.

I am a new man,
I snarl at her and bark,
I romp with joy in the bookish dark.

Keeping Things Whole by Mark Strand (1964)

In a field
I am the absence
of field.
This is
always the case.
Wherever I am
I am what is missing.

When I walk
I part the air
and always
the air moves in  
to fill the spaces
where my body’s been.

We all have reasons
for moving.
I move
to keep things whole.

Geometry by Rita Dove (1980)

I prove a theorem and the house expands:
the windows jerk free to hover near the ceiling,
the ceiling floats away with a sigh.

As the walls clear themselves of everything
but transparency, the scent of carnations
leaves with them. I am out in the open

and above the windows have hinged into butterflies,
sunlight glinting where they've intersected.
They are going to some point true and unproven.

Epilogue by Grace Nichols (1983,1984)

I have crossed an ocean
I have lost my tongue
from the root of the old one
a new one has sprung

Invitation by Grace Nichols (1984)

1

If my fat
was too much for me
I would have told you
I would have lost a stone
or two

I would have gone jogging
even when it was fogging
I would have weighed in
sitting the bathroom scale
with my tail tucked in

I would have dieted
more care than a diabetic

But as it is
I’m feeling fine
feel no need
to change my lines
when I move I’m target light

Come up and see me sometime

2

Come up and see me sometime
Come up and see me sometime

My breasts are huge exciting
amnions of watermelon
                              your hands can’t cup
my thighs are twin seals
                                 fat slick pups
there’s a purple cherry
below the blues
                                 of my black seabelly
there’s a mole that gets a ride
each time I shift the heritage
of my behind

Come up and see me sometime