Anagramming
Silent, the word
lifting off, only
its letters
in the white air
of the page, swirl,
rearrange,
then brighten
as though at dawn,
a flock of robins,
struggling to gather
in the wind;
anagram’s answer
lands on the lawn,
brown heads lowered
into thin green blades.
For burrowing worms,
they listen.
Accident
1.
Particularities of self
fall away from her like rain,
when he falls, bleeding.
He too seems to have lost
most everything about him—
husband, father.
He is simply
a human to save.
2.
As though the tree
had taken on his strength
from the jagged-slow
back and forth,
rip and tear of metal saw,
then slammed him.
3.
Irretrievable,
the moments
before.
4.
That he survived—
vast and all around her now
like space
constantly arriving.
Sally Bliumis-Dunn teaches modern poetry and creative writing at Manhattanville College. In 2002, she was a finalist for the Nimrod/Hardman Pablo Neruda Prize. Her poems have been published in The Paris Review, Prairie Schooner, Poetry London, The New York Times, and PBS NewsHour, among others. In 2008, she was asked to read in the Love Poems program at the Library of Congress. Her first book, Talking Underwater, was published in 2007 by Wind Publications. Her second book, Second Skin, was published by Wind Publications in 2010.
