Robert VanderMolen

Fishing at the Falls

Beer is cold in the water A breeze is cold behind us, A draught from shadow, where it Is cavelike, the wall eaten under, A moody huddling, where rock Has fallen from the upper lip Like crumbs (we imagine) Until rock meets rock At the rubble of river

How we’ve turned to fiction, Says Dick – all this hunger, Pitchy with wonder, came full Circle in a way . . .

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Waiting for Someone

On the bulkhead over the bar Names of steamers that used to stop here

The river silted with new islands and old tyres

I’ve been postponing this drink for hours She says, though I hadn’t inquired

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Across the alley where the train station Once held court, exposed brick, hardwood floors

Where I stood at the entrance, five years old, My hand in my mother’s,...

A House

A calendar under the couch Was several years old. It wasn’t My house. A note with crisp Letters, You are the loveOf my life. I drank my coffee On a window seat watching Spring snow fall like sugar-cubes

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Men were mulling The career of Senator Vandenberg

Candles played across mirrors To a repeating pause In the wallpaper

A polite house Like my aunt’s we visited At Easter,...