poem index

poet

Rachel Galvin

Rachel Galvin

by this poet

poem
Today we walked the inlet Nybøl Nor
     remembering how to tread on frozen snow.
          Ate cold sloeberries

that tasted of wind—a white pucker—
     spat their sour pits in snow. Along
          the horizon, a line of windmills dissolved

into a white field. Your voice
     on the phone, a gesund auf
poem
I trail my suitcase along the platform,
the weight of the air’s mechanism
at the small of my back. In the old country 

a man would arrive from afar, 
give each child a whistle, and parade them 
through the village, whistling.

What is this fury of forms, boarding trains, 
handing out whistles to children? 
Dear