Jocelyn Casey-Whiteman’s Lure opens with a bit of mystery, suspense, hesitation: in the ensuing lines and poems, with their sharp, detailed images, visual and psychological acuity, perceptual clusters leap yet maintain a visceral connection.
—Arthur Sze
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Lure by Jocelyn Casey-Whiteman
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For The Defense
I’m doing things in the wrong again:
sprinkling birdseed over a sheet of snow,
polishing my nails before the silver,
setting a table and then going to bed.
People shake rosaries and go blind.
On the crosstown bus, I have the urge
to fall into the arms of anyone who notices.
Our past President rode a rose gray horse
while shrapnel fell and people drowned
in attics. I’d write this a thousand times
to make things right. If you’re looking
for resolution, you won’t find it here.
Look: here a girl extinguishes matches
on the palette of her wrist. Look: here
by my feet, a sparrow hops on spindly legs,
she doesn’t know what’s good for her.
All rights reserved. Reprinted with the permission of the author.
