For the Sisters of the Deutschland

Morning comes again in late June
and I have seen them. The five
drowned nuns of the Deutschland
having drawn themselves across
the cold currents of the Atlantic
hang at my uncurtained window,
weary, hungry, and then pass
through to the city of my dreams
where they smear their faces
upon the sky until everyone stops
eating, rises, and clutches their breast
and swears off smoking and cursing
little old women who drive too slow.
Out of the streets of the poor
suburbs and rich neighborhoods
the modern citizen of my sleeping
life arrives and lets loose a howl
at the utter brilliance of it all
having come down to this: a five-faced
God speaking none of the tongued
religions who comes only to look,
to look at our lives, and nothing more.

Tomas Q. Morin studied at Texas State University and Johns Hopkins University. He has work published or forthcoming in Ploughshares, New Orleans Review, Boulevard, and Slate. (ezekiel371@yahoo.com).

Boxcar Poetry Review - ISSN 1931-1761