poem index

poet

Michele Wolf

Printer-friendly version
Michele Wolf

Michele Wolf was raised in South Florida. She received a BS in public communication from Boston University and an MS in journalism from Columbia University. She is the author of Immersion (The Word Works, 2011) and Conversations During Sleep (Anhinga Press, 1998), winner of the 1997 Anhinga Prize for Poetry. Wolf has received fellowships from the Arts and Humanities Council of Montgomery County, Maryland; the Edward F. Albee Foundation; and the Virginia Center for the Creative Arts, among others. She teaches at The Writer’s Center in Bethesda, Maryland.

by this poet

poem
The little one listens but never reveals
What she knows. By day she controls the light
That filters across the roofs, through
Trees, on furrows of plaintive faces.
She wakes up alone and unlocks
Cabinets of light, allots the portions
Strictly, patiently hears requests
For additional rays. What a job.
She has to
poem
Locked in the hothouse—my steamy, salt-air
Neighborhood crayoned with hibiscus, each blossom’s
Red stalk aiming its pollen-beaded headdress
Toward the sun—all of us knew which of our fellow
Alpha classmates had become pregnant, though no
Impromptu blooms would blaze to meet the light.
On my last Miami visit, my
poem
When I held smooth the satin to zip
Up your wedding dress, frosted with flounces 
And pearl-beaded filigree, a rococo
Confection more sugary than the cake,
And watched as you swiveled slowly to face
Me—all floaty notes, pure flute—so still
As I situated the baby’s breath and the veil,
How could I have told you