Communication
Black mouth for ear and ear for mouth
sat in the hallway mouth-inclined;
it yelled and yelled and when I came
I found the ghastly thing was blind—
It’s better to call after twelve;
I sometimes sleep till noon.
After the tornado my father yelled
Isaac! and soon
across the rain and dark
a bloodshot lantern sparked
the littered road.
His hoarse hands-trumpet
shook: My barn’s flat! And Isaac
bugled back, Ise coming
Now that you ask I will confess
I do work afternoons . . .
with mornings lost,
evenings so taken up. . . . Yes,
hope to see you soon.
Fifteen Poems and Drafts Introduction
In Celebration of Eleanor Ross Taylor