In one arrangement, she is wreathed
in dandelion and teeth
and sings from the choir’s gallery.
We listen, glancing
at each other’s history.

She is wry and keeps the buttons
to her blouse tightly fastened.
Later, if you should happen by
there’ll be dancing
and gin with tomato pie.

A swallow, perched on the eaves,
sings bold faced to the sun.

On the other side of the table
under a harsh bare bulb,
sweat scrolls down her cheek.
She isn’t sure anymore
what she said to the bird.


Larry Jordan’s work has appeared in Comstock Review, Pirene’s Fountain, Red Savina Review, Straight ForwardMiller’s Pond, Antiphon and othersHe recently had a poem nominated for the Pushcart Prize. He lives and writes in South Carolina.