22*6 the calling card


sonja benskin mesher

22*6 the calling card

people used to be at home officially,

provide invitations, wait for teas,

the convenient cake.

in another world, i am at home,

invitation revoked,

no need for refreshment. then.

yet the friends shall come, needing no formal,

notifications or redemptions.

it will be a pleasant day, as the hills

go down, many tremblous things


while all the while you stay quiet,

boxed, fading into your own silence.

i left the note by the clock, the calling card.


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. surrender . by Sonja Benskin Mesher


I am not a silent poet

witness came again,
reminding the words are there,

black and white, the finger writ,

he said, in the beginning it was so.

then having spake moved on, with
language unbeknown. how did

they let it happen, the flood, how
did the house surrender. a holy

place. a place of conversation, stuff
of the age, no empire building here.

there was scrambled egg, and a cabinet
pudding waiting.


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another hawfinch


found in the graveyard,
the day of the ringing.

still warm, 316, plus a silver band.

taken gently to the garden
to observe, such a large beak.

friends came to see. report
the findings. this evening

the hawfinch is collected for tests
to see. the hawfinch cannot see,

the other fell
by my gate.