Trespass
Page 3
when he was four,
I moved out of Linden
and I like the quiet of this new
town. I go to daily Mass.
You would love Carol.
He asks about the scar
large as a map running
down over his elbow,
Did you scream
when you pulled my arm
from between the cylinders
of the clothes wringer?
He pauses
to let her respond
like prayer, he waits
to hear something
come back,
Dear Bobby,
Keep writing
to me. Go teach
good things
to those boys.
You were
only sixteen.
I should have
been there.
ST. GERTRUDE’S
iron gates scatter low-flying gulls
her brother impales an empty can
on a blunt spear-tip twilight
blanches stones uniformly
some lindens effloresce
her brothers stumble to Pop’s
grave it has no new
bouquets onion
grass shoots up there’s beer
on their mouths necks
sunburned St. Gertrude’s holds
my dead family Pop
took naps with her liked
to lay his body on her
her brothers sledge
Pop’s stone drunken swings lop
off his name my cousins
wipe their palms they swing
at the iron climb through
bent bars the cemetery
calls my father he will buy
a new stone for Pop
a custodian hammers back
the bars rain hits
limestone layers delaminate
letters lose their serifs when
it’s time we’ll sink
no stone when he
dies we’ll set
my father to ash
FRESHMAN THEOLOGY
newsprint curls out
from corkboard my father opens
a few awning windows
in the empty classroom
he tunes the Four Seasons
falsettos tinny as school band brass
his teenage years rush
over him he hits
the radio off
he will hand out
notebooks for them
to journal feelings
he curates young men
and thinks this atonement
TRESPASS
it’s winter your hairs touch
my skin touch my side
touch the immediate the bright
burn of it tread the emptiness
that touches this house walls
touched with dawn the late
inside lamp touches windows
breath touches glass fog touches clear
touch a name let snow touch cheekbone it drifts
against fence touch the latch
touch the gate the knob its cool
metal the hand blooms once
inside hand that slides open
that turns locks touch open touch
young touch her hair summer
touches attic dormers heat pushes
out a fan so cool in the cellar the mold
touches stone sewage rushes in pipes
sounds of the house touch you touch the half
window the way out the awning
hinge touch the pane touched by slim shoots
touch trim of sky can you touch
her voice her full life her adultness
and you touch her for six months touch her
around the house now touch the great
span and for once let her touch a man
let her touch her child let her
touch herself her own tall body
NEAR
as the slow heat leaks
from old panes, when night
makes its shapes, the slatted closet
door strange ribs, when my soft
moon drifts into your hard
pull, our bed holds zephyr
of breath, gather me
as my father would, in the immense
dark I dock my spine
to you
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Grateful acknowledgment is made to The Cortland Review in which “Cherry Tree” appeared and to Jeffrey Berg for including “Winter Burial” on jdbrecords.
I would like to thank David McLoghlin, Rachel Zucker, Yusef Komunyakaa, and Matthew Rohrer for taking in this book, at various stages, and offering encouragement and advice. I am grateful to Alexandra Geis for being a creative compass and a compassionate guide. Thank you to Stephanie Stio at the National Poetry Series, and for his expert stewardship, I am very thankful for David Watson at HarperCollins Publishers.
“A Body Glows Bronze” is after the sculpture The Age of Bronze (L’ge d’airain) by Auguste Rodin, originally titled The Vanquished (Le Vaincu). The model for this work was a twenty-two-year-old Belgian soldier named Auguste Ney.
“Elegy” is dedicated to Tyler Clementi.
“O magnum mysterium” is part of the Latin text of a Christmas choral composition.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photo by Noah Barker
THOMAS DOOLEY was born and raised in the Somerset Hills of New Jersey and lives in New York. He is the founder and artistic director of Emotive Fruition, a theatre collective of actors and poets. He holds a Master of Fine Arts from New York University and works in the field of narrative medicine.
Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins authors.
CREDITS
Cover artwork by Edmée E. Geis
COPYRIGHT
TRESPASS. Copyright © 2014 by Thomas Dooley. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
FIRST EDITION
ISBN 978-0-06-233882-2
EPub Edition September 2014 ISBN 9780062338839
14 15 16 17 18 OV/RRD 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
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