Yawns. Stifled, heads
Half-turned
To protect
The host’s ego. It isn’t really
Boring, being here,
The music
Too loud,
Like the laughter,
The dress.
(Bright birds
On black silk, the women
In weird shapes
Or colors
That shriek)
But
We could be home
Alone
With the night,
Enfolded
In sighs—
Instead
The yawns
Come on, forcing themselves up
Like chasms too wide
To bridge
With easy social grace.
From First Love to its destructive end and on to new beginnings, Mary Angela Nangini's poems explore the birth and death of a relationship. The powerful poems are presented in two parts with an introduction to her next book My Ontario Beautiful. (Th
Welcome!
The poems in this beautifully bound book are a result of over twenty years of observations. Observations of the world around us and on the telecommunications network. All of the hate, love, heroism, disasters, and those who help.
Beautif
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