H.R. WEBSTER

Ring-Neck

I stepped twice
on the same dead dove
this morning. Beauty
opened a door, what
tethered me back?
The bus with her wide
right turn. The boys forming
a circle of salt behind
the depot. I am carrying
my dog’s bag of shit, pretending
my hand is empty. The air is an animal
and also another kind of animal.
It hasn’t learned a thing. 
Keeps pressing on
the same windows.
Keeps pressing its cheek.

Occlusion

some flaws
in gems are invisible
except for the shadows
they throw up inside

this could be a metaphor
for almost anything

yesterday a man whispered
the word sex  in your ear
at the Stop & Shop

again when you were walking
your dog
down the main drag
of the little seaside town

you tell me you understand
now what I meant
when I said fear is handful
of sand I can’t shake out
of my pocket

an occlusion is anything
that closes
from the latin for
shut up

the teeth biting a word
in half like soft
invisible meat
the stone shutting
out the light it was faceted
to reflect I am trying to steal

the metaphor you gave
me drunk and sorry
for everyone you did not
believe before now

the culet at the stone’s
tip giving back every scrap
it gets the invisible wreckage
at the center swallowing

             the center swallowing
             forever the men who saw

             the tattoo on the back
             of my leg
             wanted me to know

             I was a deer  
             horned           hunted
             wanted to rub

             the velvet from
             my antlers against
             the low barrens
             of dune-pines men can
             ruin anything even
             the ocean

                                       even the ocean
                                       swallowing the last light
                                       the tide touching

itself the waves
tearing off skin
after insistent skin
you are sorry

sending me photographs
of bad diamonds
all night I am sorry
this tiara ate
the whole world up
left nothing
but the cool shadow
             the breakwater’s lea 

H.R. Webster's poems have appeared in the Black Warrior Review, Massachusetts Review, Ecotone, Ninth Letter, Hobart, Entropy, and other publications. She holds and MFA from the University of Michigan and currently teaches writing and serves as Managing Editor of the Michigan Quarterly Review. You can find more at hrwebster.com.