Night
Someone was talking
quietly of lanterns—
but loud enough
to light my way.
Just
Just
imagining
the branch
as gallows
makes it
break.
Light
It looked like something
you could pick up, that
dagger of light.
He left it there,
not trusting what
he might do with it.
Summer, Lake
You can’t fish
for light, or
you can, but
you have to
throw it back.
Fellow Traveler
She went everywhere
with an empty suitcase.
You never know when
you’ll need to leave
swiftly with nothing.
Street Corner
He asked me to hold
something. I think
what I held
was his believing
he’d be back.
Birdsong
There must some-
where be a forest
that’s lost its
voice, which goes
deeper and deeper
into itself, its
trees never
seen again.
Andrea Cohen’s poems have appeared in The New Yorker, The Atlantic Monthly, Poetry, The Threepenny Review, and elsewhere. Four Way Books will publish her fifth collection, Unfathoming, next year. Other recent books include Furs Not Mine and Kentucky Derby. She directs the Blacksmith House Poetry Series in Cambridge, Massachusetts and the Writers House at Merrimack College .
Read poetry by Andrea Cohen previously appearing in Terrain.org.
Read poetry by Andrea Cohen previously appearing in Terrain.org.
Header photo of forest with light by valiunic, courtesy Pixabay.
