Three Poems

by Abby Caplin

Old color photos (Photo by sarandy westfall on Unsplash)


YOU CAN’T GO BACK

 

Miguel called. Ally

left him after he slapped her.

He was terribly

sorry. He asked me shouldn’t

she forgive him? They

would divorce. I would never

see either again.

We had mourned Victor Jara’s

murder, turntable

spinning between us. His wife

Joan died today. Where are they?





ANTHROPOCENE CHOKA

 

I pick my way through

wet sand, sidestepping splintered

planks, KFC lids,

teal nitrile gloves, and observe 

a barge pushing sea-

water like a dung beetle

working its heap; pause

at a cormorant’s opal

eye, blind to its own tableau.




PACKS

 

Cherry blossom petals, hurried forward

by marine winds, bounce down streets like kids

dismissed from school for the summer.

Hundreds of them scurry ahead of me

where mostly thirtysomethings crowd around café tables

next to a bus stop and others are disembarking.

Dog leashes of teal and coral and sunflower,

this jumbled mix of hipster and homeless

with their canines, everyone sharing names and breeds

over plates of labneh and baba ghanoush and milk

pudding scented with orange blossoms.

A woman serenades from a tavern across the street,

and when she reaches a long, high

note, fairy lights turn on, the sky folds

into lavender and darkens, pale stars still visible

in the sudden specter of ear-nipping fog,

those bundles of padded jackets and scarves who walk

their singular routes with Dolly or Barkley or Lulu 

or Orion, who sniff terrain and drain their bladders, then settle

into beds or under trees of heaven.




Color photo of Abby Caplin

BIO: Abby Caplin’s poems have appeared in AGNI, Catamaran, Midwest Quarterly, Moon City Review, Pennsylvania English, North American Review, Salt Hill, Spoon River Poetry Review, The Southampton Review, and elsewhere. Among her awards, she has been a finalist for the Rash Award in Poetry and the Anna Davidson Rosenberg Poetry Award, a semi-finalist for the Willow Run Poetry Book Award, and a nominee for Best New Poets, Best of the Net, and the Pushcart Prize. She is the author of A Doctor Only Pretends: poems about illness, death, and in-between (2022). Abby is a physician in San Francisco, California.

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Three Poems