TED GENOWAYS
The Slaughterhouse Wall
after Jerome L iebling
As if tha t whi sper he sometimes tho ught he hea rd
over the constant howl of sla ughte r fin a ll y
tempted him away, hi s sta ti on stands dese rted ,
a lmost sil ent, w ith o ut ra ttling ga tes, the voll ey
o f shouts, bo nes c rac king under the weight o f hi s ma ul ,
but behind where he stood , spa tte r-shot, ca ked w ith blood ,
is a n empty ho urglass o n the sla ughterh o use wa ll.
As a boy, he made ange ls in the snow when cl o uds
pu shed south fr om St. Pa ul , swing ing hi s a rms to reco rd
the a rc o f hi s reach; now, even when he is gone,
hi s do ubl e, the shadow, has mo re ca ttl e to knock.
Hi s hand , though gone, leaves its blood nega ti ve, th e pa lm
pressed bri efl y, aga in st the strea ked stee l and cinderbl ock,
thi s o nce, a moment to ca tch hi s brea th , a repri eve
before he lea ns o ut o f the ca mera's frame
a nd into the wo rld to come. Was thi s the life o f
my grandfa ther, tha t stra nge r wh o gave me hi s name?
If
I were ever as ked , could I have done the sa me?
JESSICA GOODHEART
Adam Eats the Beach
Adam wea rs a bea rd o f droo l and sand ,
a nd ra ises hi s a rms to the setting sun .
The wind 's fin ge rs ta ke hi s face in ha nd .
ow hi s fi sts a re plunging fast towa rd la nd;
he clutches the gritty fl oo r, a nd with one
hand, evens o ut hi s o ld -ma n 's bea rd of sa nd .
