ADDENDUM TO THE SAFETY OFFICER'S ACCOUNT

When the spanwire

Snapped like a line mooring Seaman Holt

To this world, the severing released a flood

Of paper from his body. I had to fill

Every sheet with words.

A month washed by--

I'd written the letter to his family,

The accident report, the memoranda

To the various departments that had fed

And clothed and paid him, my journal entry.

His face began to lose its puzzled look,

Dissolving in the darkness of my thoughts.

The Shore Patrol had fished him out of bars,

Disorderly and drunk; he'd been written up

For ragged dungarees, skipping watch

On the quarterdeck and unrep duties

On fueling details. His final day, though,

He was on that rig.

And then Personnel

Called for a Terminal Evaluation.

In every category on that form--

Skills, discipline, personal appearance--

I wrote a 4.0. The yeoman typed

From this a "smooth eval" which I proofread:

The comma at its end I whited out

To a period.

(published in The New Republic)

MY MOTHER'S LAST CHRISTMAS CARD, UNSENT

Dear Ruth & Bill,

So glad to hear you'll stay

At home this year--I find the celebrations

Get gaudier each season. Lord, the way

Some people light their houses. We're told to ration

Electricity...and by TV, yet! Sure--

With all this crazy blinking like the rides

At Coney Island back when we were poor

And happy. Three of my four kids cried

On that ferris wheel: which of them was brave?

(This pen's begun to skip--I need to bear

Down hard to get the letters out.) I gave

My shamrock necklace back to Ree to wear--

The jade's too green for me. Take care.

                                                             Love, Eileen

P.S. don't think I'll use this pen again

(published in The Yale Review;

also featured on Poetry Daily)