Julie Hill alger
Pictures of Home
In the red-roofed stucco house Of my childhood, the dining room Was screened off by folding doors With small glass panes. Our neighbors The Bertins, who barely escaped Hitler, Often joined us at table.
Opening the Geode
When the molten earth seethed In its whirling cauldron Nobody watched the pot From a tall wooden stool Set out in windy space Beyond flame’s reach; And when the spattering mush Steamed, gurgled, boiled
Lesson 1
At least I’ve learned this much: Life doesn’t have to be All poetry and roses. Life Can be bus rides, gritty sidewalks, Electric bills, dishwashing, Chapped lips, dull stubby pencils With the erasers chewed
Death in the Family
They call it stroke. Two we loved were stunned By that same blow of cudgel Or axe to the brow. Lost on the earth They left our circle Broken. One spent five months Falling