PQ Poem Archives - Page 2 of 5 - Pittsburgh Quarterly

When Did Prison Become My Home? My wife had to leave me first,saying so over the phone,the fifteen-minute inmate call long enoughfor her to speak pregnant & separationso I knew my home was not my home.Then came work, waving its armslike a candidate for office,promising a few extra dollarsin my trustee account. Too,I wrote poems …

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PQ Poem

mountebank afternoon

by Jason Baldinger

mountebank afternoon (for angele ellis) contrails fadesun tries to breathelife into the old city mission the art deco erawritten in lamppostwatched by eaglesbronzed in way back the wind across mountebankafternoon stretches a flagto the point it could break then take to the skya kite of a freedom imaginedlike the leaves that decoratethese hillsides bare trees

PQ Poem

Interstate Five

by Ryler Dustin

Interstate Five What remains of these lost deltasafter the mills shut down: an artof disappearing, black-windowed bars,the towers of a closed factorystill blinking their red lights to hideno work’s inside. For yearsI drove past these roadside dinerscarved out of rain, trailer parks linedwith European trees, the truck stopwhere cigarette smoke driftsinto the air like a …

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PQ Poem

Colors

by Deborah Bogen

Colors Blood-red was all the rage that year — in the fashion magazines and the furniture showrooms. So, now we had the new loveseat, my mother’s find — the fabric called blood-red, but it looked older and dried up. Something closer to rust. The walls of my room were a perfect sky blue and my …

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PQ Poem

Empty Hands

by Bart Solarczyk

Empty Hands I dream you naked in a worldwhere touch is forbidden this is death, this is longingempty hands squeezing air.

PQ Poem

Evacuate My Brain

by Lisa Alexander

Evacuate My BrainAlong that wallI could be quietin the dark—club kids, drag queensbrush by in a stiff hitof hairspray, cigarettes,something candysweethoney bring it close to my lipsI’d stand there smoking,watch the crowd on the floormove as a whole, look for facesI know, faces that surprise me,faces I might want—honey bring it close to my lips …

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PQ Poem

of what is not written, the archive only dreams

by Elizabeth Hoover

of what is not written, the archive only dreams When the archive dreams of Pittsburgh, smoke poursfrom the stacks, and librarians don goggles, wrap the booksin tarp. When the archive dreams of Pittsburgh, I perch on an overhead crane and watch as a silhouetteemerges from a row of hook blocks, shimmingwith a pole to flip …

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PQ Poem

In the Portrait Gallery

by Gerry LaFemina

In the Portrait Gallery Faces of no one I know, some of themstern-eyed, the rooms they sat in soot dark with coal fires & still births.Thus was born stoicism & the Age of Exploration. I lived that way for decades—alternating between hermitage & pilgrimage; the yin & yang of grim & grin.Sure, the men in …

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PQ Poem

Highway 491

by Lawrence Wray

If it happens that this road is heaven,close your eyes. On the drive acrosssuch a vast country as heaven must be,the road waves as this one does.Its graceful long arcs lead all the wayto the horizon. And isn’t it sothe road stretches even beyond there?You’ll find you’ve been here all alongon Highway 491. On maps just …

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Culture PQ Poem

October

by David Thoreen

On his birthday she whispered, bereft,and understood her place in the scheme of things.The man next door walked his cocker spaniel,a plastic bag in his hand. The kettle began to steam. At the park she found her bench was takenby a man in an Irish sweater, so went a little furtherand sat beneath the linden. …

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PQ Poem

A Moment

by Judith Sanders

While chops sizzle and onions brown,the radio intones failures, floods, and fires,and the family cries its needs, Step out the kitchen doorTrain your eyes on the clouds, rumpled on the darkening sky How big are they, you wonder, and where is that cicada with its kazoo, and the bees that all day probed the flowers? How far is …

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Culture PQ Poem

Homewood Poem

by Doralee Brooks

Stranahan, steepest hill in Homewood, pulls my primary-school bones like iron filings across an etch-a-sketch from Belmar at the top to flat Apple Street running across its base near 7101, Mystery Manor. Bought by Woogie Harris, the gangster banker, in the 30’s. In rabbit fur maxi-coats, chinchilla-draped shoulders, jewel-studded t-straps, and wingtips, people stepped from …

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Culture PQ Poem

February Night

by Ralph Culver

—for Hil Winter rain drummingthe pond ice beyond the gate.One light burns overthe stove, bright enough that hecan make out the easy drift of her hip slopinginto the turned-down blanket.The warm length of her.The warm length of heragainst him. Cold rains. He feeds the fire.

Culture PQ Poem

When Life Could Be a Dream

by Andrena Zawinski

When American Bandstand dancersin Philly skipped across our TV screenson the pony, hip swiveled to the twist,jumped up and back in the locomotion,our Platter Pushin’ Papa in Pittsburgh’sroller arenas and high school gyms spun usonto slick dance floors for slow grindsto doo-wop love crush melodies highon falsetto and low blow of saxophone.Sent us us out on …

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PQ Poem

Poem Ending With a Line from Tomas Tranströmer (via Robin Robertson)

by John Repp

Oh to be veeringalong Baum Boulevardto the beatus via north,where the squalls of Mercer vanish for a minute, horizon a violet knife-cut, curtainof snow throbbingat the grade’s bottom—none of which you’ll know, my dear,no matter how loudthe ringing tambourines of ice.

Culture PQ Poem

Colonial Tea Room

by Catherine Doty

At 5 AM you’re buttering the bagels and waiting for your city sewer man to heave himself out of a hole in Barclay Street and bring you a breakfast order for his crew. The list is smudged and long and flush with desire: burned bacon on a jelly-smeared bialy, cold brisket on a kaiser, side of gravy, and Flop …

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PQ Poem

Essential Worker

by Robert Fillman

There was only one blackemployee at our school,Danny the janitor who cleaned up the crumbs fromour Little Debbie cakesat lunch. Danny, who scrubbed the toilets, the muscled thirty-something guy whobecame our protector, who broke up playground fightsand chased down basketballs,raised us up so we could dunk on a ten-foot rim.Danny, whose closet was by the library where …

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Culture PQ Poem

Freight: Passing Through

by Dora Odarenko

I resonate over banks of the Ohio cense with soot the river straitjacketed between walls built for restraint. I cast my voice out over Neville Island intertwine with suspect air. In haste and power I slice with authority the boredom of the highway, its hum a faucet left unchecked. A presence inescapable, I penetrate the …

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Culture PQ Poem

A Parent’s Shame

by Jessica Whipple

She grips a chunk of chalk in her fistscratches onto black construction paperfamiliar fury of scribbles:a moon todayyesterday, an egg someone’s headside by side, two are apples. Sometimesthe picture isn’t the pointit’s powder on palmswows and ooohs and beautifulsfingers and focus and finishingit’s preschool prideit’s fine-motor joy neither of us realizingshe’s tall enough nowto see into …

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PQ Poem

Fern Hollow Bridge

by Arlene Weiner

The high bridge carries a roadway out of town,an earlier generation’s pride and wonder,emblem of man’s ambition. From belowon the park path, it’s an iron rainbow, a sky that booms with ungiving thunder above a shallow stream that gave no graceto the promising son who did himself to deathchoosing to break himself on the dusty path. …

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Culture PQ Poem

Full Moon, Occ Health

by Katy Giebenhain

By the time he reaches Occupational Health the security officer tips his head, says Full moon. You can tell. In the bright sting of winter and vaccine pod fender-bendersglass doors on this edge of hospital campus part and shut, part and shut. Last week a diamond earing went missing.With a distraught patient Iduck-walked the foyer, examined elevator tracks, feltbehind parked wheelchairs and the …

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PQ Poem

After A Pitcher of Beer at Antlers Pub, I Believed I Was Brave

by Lori Jakiela

After A Pitcher of Beer at Antlers Pub, I Believed I Was Brave And walked with my friend Mike to the State Street Pier. Mike was funny, a good drinking buddy, and fearless. He pissed from the edge of the pier, then pole vaulted over the railing and landed hard with both feet, right on the lake below. …

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