Poems by L. N. Allen


Spaces Needed in the 21st Century

a space between writing letters

and pressing Send

between finishing an entrée

and ordering dessert

between falling in love

and having sex

between desiring

and acquiring

between growing older

and being old

between sitting quietly

and praying . . .

even better, a double space, an interval,

a biblical selah.


He Falls Asleep in My Arms

and I morph to pillow mode,

my task to sit

as still as a Buddhist

letting a squirrel

crawl down her arm for a nut,

still as that nut in a dish,

still as Rushmore presidents,

still as clocks two minutes from recess,

still as flags on Hershey kisses,

and yet somehow, I’m waltzing,

Strauss himself on the organ,

Gabriel on the horn

(still as Elijah, listening).