a poetry e-zine










Poems By Taylor Graham

They thought I should always be beautiful
and unshod, unpredictable as myth.

No, they loved predictability.

The coupleting of rhymes, lines measured
by pulse and breath-pause. Poetry

on the scale of humans
gape-mouthed at the passing of exotic

birds or angels.
If I missed a beat, they’d gasp

and look away, embarrassed. When I molted,
they’d point and snicker.

I got tired of their blue-sky fancies,

how they ran inside when storm-clouds snorted,
how they resisted lightning’s larger view.

Did they want me to pasture with geldings
and mares, fatten on sweet timothy,

my wings grow vestigial
as those of humans

in their thoughts of the divine.

Taylor Graham is a volunteer search-and-rescue dog handler in the Sierra Nevada. Her poems have appeared in International Poetry Review, The Iowa Review, The New York Quarterly, Poetry International, Southern Humanities Review, and elsewhere, and she's included in the anthology, California Poetry: From the Gold Rush to the Present (Santa Clara University, 2004). Her book The Downstairs Dance Floor (Texas Review Press, 2006) was awarded the Robert Phillips Poetry Chapbook Prize. Her latest is Among Neighbors (Rattlesnake Press, 2007).

Copyright 2009  Chantarelle's Notebook