Brian Foley


Cleary Eyed

She made a study of the lip of the above ground pool
while floating sideways. Her mother came out
with tuna sandwiches of celery and spices,
the kind of taste she would not ably name
until she was twenty, living on her own in the city.
It was the first year of remembered repetition
where ownership of the shade made sense.
I was the neighbor in the window,
separated by lawn shavings, with
a capability to cry when the wind blew
backwards through my hair
that at once made both a mother nervous
and a father ashamed.
Lying there on the warm plastic mattress,
purpling the flesh that would later pain her,
she could not wait to be older.


Untitled

You will find me in the cornfields
watching the tornado
take your home away

In the night movies I meet
the mirror - never head on
but obscured by the shoulder
of the gentleman actor
playing myself

As one day pushes aside another
I listen for the piano
to ring with word
of your long awaited delay - while outside,
snow accumulates



Brian Foley is a working writer living on the peripheries of Boston. His work has been published in Night Train, WHL Review, Skyscraper, Swingset and Chunklet.

He is the events director of Brookline Booksmith where he runs the author events series. In the past year he has hosted Mary Oliver, Richard Ford, Irvine Welsh, Chris Adrian, Franz Wright, Jonathan Lethem, Jennifer Egan, Edna O'Brien, and many more.

 
 
 
previous page     contents     next page