THE FOREIGN FOREST by Dorothy Porter

1954 - 2008

You burn your bridges
going into a foreign forest
like a gleaming cruel
new school
where you don't know
the bluffing bullies
from the silent cougars

You learn from experience
going into a foreign forest
where cold pine needles
have a smell
like a new lover's hair
in winter-
slippery ice spiced

You can't name the flowers
going into a foreign forest
but the leaves blaze
against the early snow
like a moment-fire
blowing into your eyes
hot. too much.cold.



MULTIPLEX
Every night
MULTIPLEX
shines through my hospital
window

big blue neoned letters
aimed vertically
at the thick dark sky
like a rocket
steadying its nerve
on a launching pad.

Hiya, MULTIPLEX
Whoever you are
you look like
you're going places.
Take me with you.