Two Poems

Insomnia for Another Season

He comes at night
like a thief for whom
the locked door
swings open
on greased twinges.
He leans over your bed,
the hulk in the shadow.
You fret—all those lives
you wish you could change,
some your own.
Keep your eyes closed.
Maybe he will depart
without being angry
you have so little to steal.


It’s how you see yourself,
big girls don’t cry,
your sex the red X
on the math problem,
the one you never figured out
a + b = x2
As for conjugating verbs,
you made mistakes there too.

—Lois Marie Harrod, Hopewell, NJ