for Marianne Moore
Perched on a clawfoot
tub eating leftover sardines
your mother, prime source
of nutrition, never fed you
but roosters in the water
closet eat amity, oyster shells
while a smokeless furnace,
arms without thumbs, seethes
like a smoldering cigar
smirch on the handrail stop
and Alectryon pinches a sun
bowl of getaway fare – you,
by omission, lie humidly
thwarted, unfixed by wonder.
Elizabeth S. Gunn
Elizabeth S. Gunn serves as the Dean of the School of Arts, Sciences, and Business at Nevada State University. She writes poetry and fiction in Henderson, Nevada, where she and her wife live with their three rescue pups in the endless Mojave Desert. Her website is http://www.elizabethsgunn.com/ and she's on X at @_DeanGunn.
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