aaron poller


Now you have found your eyeglasses,
mine being on my face already, may

we inspect the garden, the one we have
been turning the back yard into in spite

of voles, mosquitoes and the Creeping
Charlie? It’s all there, roses, oxalis,

anemones, yarrow and blueberry.
Yesterday we built a path around the shed,

a path going nowhere except for looking
at roses and some large green perennial

I can’t remember the name of now,
or most of the time, despite your kind

reminder. After the inspection, we both
must leave for work where we will be

happy, or not, all day, or happy enough
until we get to come home again, and like

the tiny bee cuddling into the tiny bell
shaped white flower, indulge desire.

To a Student on Her Marriage

Fathers who drink their way
through family life,
who have nothing to give,
leave a special pain

on the faces of daughters,
daughters who like
the rest of us must try
to leave that home,

that heavy weight
of shame, and sign the air
with all your spirit
and your name.

Aaron Poller is a nurse psychotherapist who loves jazz, baseball, and teaching mental health nursing to his students. Writing poetry for about 50 years now and beginning to understand what that means. He has two grown daughters and lives happily with his wife, four dogs and three cats in a small but comfortable house in North Carolina.