The Starving Poet

Poetry by Alinda Dickinson Wasner

Shower Curtain With Antique Car Motif

Ah, the old  Packard--you said it was an accident that the passenger seat reclined the night you took Dawn Riski to the drive-in; as if  you were actually surprised that she slapped you! And, God! the Nash Rambler-- remember how... Continue Reading →

Housesitting for the Neighbors

My daughter wants a house like the Apters' she wants to come home at night and sink down into the warm brown velour of dark she wants to stretch out on the rug like a cat to sip tea out... Continue Reading →

Thin Ice

Skidding out across Lake Huron in Jimmy Chrysler's '69 Dodge I learned the easy way how to say no to boys, and, so I imagined, to men twice my age, and how the word, maybe, could be worthy enough of... Continue Reading →

Sandusky, 4 AM

Sandusky, 4 AM In the half dark of early morning my mother loops our clothesline through her belt, knots the other end around my waist and leads me through the wet grass, over rocks and moss-- our feet slipping as... Continue Reading →

Heaven, She Supposes

is that place where the cops don’t leave the ladder leaning against the house for three days, the alarm blaring so the whole damn world knows you’ve been gone for at least a week-- where they at least pick up... Continue Reading →

So How Do You Know?

So How Do You Know that he didn’t become a congressman somewhere, lobbying for the arts-- I mean the way his mother made him promise to never play football because he had to protect his hands, and what with a... Continue Reading →

Tsifteteli (Wedding Dance)

tonight the moon dances wildly across the water in its silver slippers much like you danced tonight in a sea of dancers leaping over a gouache of broken hearts as the sea washes away the land as the stars glitter... Continue Reading →

Kissing the Ikons

Kissing the Ikons   Kiss-kiss. Did you crawl under them on your knees? wipe your hands on the aunties’ aprons? see them flap, flap in the wind, those aprons while the aunties danced out on the pier where the red... Continue Reading →

Fool’s Gold

I thought I wanted love but what I really meant   was a fiddler in the kitchen-- the faces of our friends   flushed with wine and laughter   and the floor scuffed where we pushed back chairs and danced--... Continue Reading →

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