J. B. Lawrence

I’ve been out searching for father figures, 

but return as usual, alone and thunder-headed,
my hands rough with cold, two umbrellas
inverted to carry whatever falls from the sky.
I have taken to speaking with birds
in nods and caws, the tsee! tsee!
hunger of pennyweight sparrows.
Sorrow gets in line behind a headstone,
its name laser engraved on fused granite,
the new way of conducting old business.
Foxes thrive in forest hollows, tree cavities
keep owlets perfectly camouflaged.
There are formulas that permeate the skin
and make a body barren. Wars that hollow
whole cities, holes where once there were lives.

J.B. Lawrence is the author of two poetry collections: Grayling (Perugia Press), and One Hundred Steps from Shore (Blue Begonia Press). Awards include the Perugia Press Prize, the Orlando Poetry Prize, and the James Hearst Poetry Prize. Recent work appears in About Place Journal; Pithead Chapel, Split Rock Review, and Water~Stone Review. Lawrence lives and writes in Western Massachusetts.