Two Poems from Debra Shirley

Undertow


I lean into the whisper,
let my forearm press
flesh and current.

Crashing into my throat,
all that must go unsaid
threatens to spill over into words.

Under a watchful eye,
what is expressed
bobs and weaves on the froth.

Skimming the surface,
we are strewn apart,
shell and bauble.




What Must Go Unsaid


If I had a moment alone with you,
we’d lie under a sun-threaded maple,
the full lengths of us not touching.

I’d listen as you read
Hoagland, Williams and Oliver,
Rumi and Contreni-Flynn,

drown in the sound of the words
in your mouth, the hum of your
voice filling your chest.

After an hour, you’d read
Ciardi’s praise of the Snowy Heron,
my delighted mouth would find yours.



Debra Shirley's work has been included or is forthcoming in Nimrod International Journal of Prose and Poetry, The Cortland Review, Margie Review: The American Journal of Poetry, The Main Street Rag, The Adirondack Review, The Playwright's Showcase of the Western Region and elsewhere.


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