By Carl Boon

Sue sits near the curtain,
checking the latest sales
on sweaters at Mango.
The light gray wool
would go with a pair of jeans,
but summer’s coming
and that means more—
a skylight for her bedroom,
new sandals in turquoise.
She looks to me, wants to say

how difficult they are,
John Berryman’s lines,
the way he died because
no one was listening. Or
how difficult her father was,
those blank stares
that filled the kitchen
but never erupted into more—
a thrown cup, a counter-
throw to pierce the paint.

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Carl Boon

Carl Boon / About Author

Carl Boon lives in Izmir, Turkey, where he teaches courses in American culture and literature at 9 Eylül University. His poems appear in dozens of magazines, most recently The Maine Review and The Hawaii Review. A 2016 Pushcart Prize nominee, Boon is currently editing a volume on the sublime in American cultural studies.

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