Stephen Gibson Click to

sgibsonStephen Gibson is the author of five poetry collections: Rorschach Art Too (2014 Donald Justice Prize, West Chester University),  Paradise (Miller Williams Prize finalist, University of Arkansas Press, 2011), Frescoes (Lost Horse Press book prize, 2009), Masaccio’s Expulsion (MARGIE/Intuit House book prize, 2006), and Rorschach Art (Red Hen, 2001).   His work has appeared in The Paris Review, Ploughshares, and Poetry.  His collection in progress is “The Garden of Earthly Delights, A Scrambled Abecedarian.”

After their ER visit, there’s really nothing to say.
Now, they no longer need the mattress or the crib.

Nebraska’s 1958 teen killers questioned by police;
still to be discovered, another dress in a corn crib.

Analogy used at the trial of Sacco and Vanzetti:
they’re like two rats in the darkness of a feed crib.

In the Black Hills gold rush photo, women line shanties;
no sidewalks, their places of business are called cribs.

In fire marshal’s photos, car in car port is burned to its shell;
inside the charred house, a space heater is next to a crib.

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One Response to Presences

  1. Richard Atwood says:

    Doesn’t move me. Nor even spark amusement. Dry.
    Noticing a trend in poetry now, to be dropping the articles of speech (sort of like years ago,
    when they started being so “cool,” dropping punctuation for run on sentences and phrases;
    oh, well…).

    In (blank) fire marshall’s… (blank) car in (blank) carport. Have begun to notice quite a bit of this sort of writing cropping up lately. Reminds me of the internet, where i substitutes for I.
    Must have been for the metrical cadence, I guess. What do I know?
    (In music, they’ve already replaced singing with screaming.)

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