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New Poem ‘After We Lost the House’

Painted Bride Quarterly has published a new poem by Henry.

Henry Hughes
After We Lost the House

the deck I built, your mother’s plantings,

blossoms and birds carved 

into closet doors for the room 

you were gonna paint purple.  

It all went red on my half-time,

then Mom got sick and the car died.

 

Winter gnawed through that drafty trailer 

and the drunk-ruckus apartment on Ninth,

until I got the other job and this place, 

where you can walk to school 

and help Mom sow a small garden. 

 

The landlord doesn’t want a handyman, just a check 

every month.  But at night, in the garage 

over a makeshift bench, I build birdhouses—

top-grade plywood, stainless steel screws, 

tin-faced nesting holes

nothing’ll chew through.
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New Poems by Henry Hughes

The American Journal of Poetry has published two new poems by Henry.

Henry Hughes
Our Drinking
 
Exiled temptations,
a cool glass of outerspace, a movie
mobbed with friends. One more peach
from the waxy box of overripe.
 
We trip on egg shells
and swab our knees with gin,
caps spinning
until our talked-off heads
sag like diapers.
 
Noon cleanups, the missing acres
of last night, lights on, gate left open,
dog run off. Memory’s slash and wince,
thick woods and a stalled jeep.
 
Asleep on the backseat,
sweet child we never had.

Read Henry’s second poem in the journal.

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