Two Poems

What’s Up?

The sun. The sun is up.
In my garden the chives are up
out of the warming earth, eight inches tall
already in their cluster of slender greenness.

In Minnesota more snow.
In Madison, more unpermitted singing.
In Milwaukee, in suburban St. Francis,
the Overpass Light Brigade holds up
          WATER = LIFE.
In Chicago students are up
and walk out on standardized testing.

On the downside,
in Bangladesh, a garment factory collapses
and people sewing clothes for Walmart
are crushed in the rubble.

In Senegal, used clothing from the US is up,
is now the second largest industry,
putting small tailors out of business.

In my workshop, one of the poets wishes
godspeed to a dying uncle who abused
many of her cousins, his nieces.  This uncle,
a ninety-one year old doctor, not a healer.

On the English coast, a balmy mist.
In English, parts of speech
drop their boundaries.
In Spanish, la lucha continua.


I Thought I Could Not Write another Poem
Then Robert and I Were Paired at the Community Workshop

Ice     Not snow
Snow is soft    Snow
moves      twirls
spirals    drifts

On this block only the police
and the clocks move

It is their car

It is your arms on the hood
your body across the grill
your legs spread apart
your feet uneasy
on the ground

Teacher speaks
 up for you in court

Ice is slick   Trips you up
Ice is cold         hard

Margaret Rozga