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Port Townsend, WA
360-379-1086

Three Poems by Linda Malnack

Questions the Art Docent Asked

The boy with pale eyes knows now

he can project himself into any

painting, so the who is himself,

the where is his own attic room,

and why has something to do with

the way his mother runs her fingers

through his hair before saying good-

night. He knows blue can take him

back to summer when the moon

casts that same shade of indigo

against the side of his bed, when

his bed becomes a boat, all floaty,

stars banging and sparking as he looks

down into the black waves filling

his room and dreams of them—

the paintings—and how van Gogh

saw what he saw and painted all

the answers there on canvas.

                                    (first published in Crab Creek Review)

Hanger

Having held up everything—

the entire burden of a dress code,

the one chartreuse fashion mistake

of a season, all hope of success

(a job, a date)—the hanger is taut,

suspended in the gaping grotto

of the closet. I have covered it again

with my wool coat, so that now,

like me, it waits in the dark

for the weight to be lifted when it will

glint again, empty and swinging

like an angel in a Christmas play.

                                    (first published in America)

Waiting

I have waited through new alder

and horsetail and the thin film

on ditch water for you.

Through cottonwood fluff,

buttercup and the return of finches.

I have waited through pineapple weed

and wild wheat and the blackening

of blackberries for you.

Through brown bracken,

fir needle and the dust on fireweed leaves.

I have waited through leaf mush

and rain snap and the steam

lifting up from water for you.

Through arrows of geese, thin ice on puddles

and the gradual lessening of rain.

                                    (first published in Matrix)