Archive for the Helen Losse Category

Shifting Paradigm by Helen Losse

Posted in Helen Losse with tags , on May 31, 2010 by Scot

The idea was to test a sound hypothesis.
They didn’t tell us what that hypothesis was.

When springtime grass began to green,
they marched us out to count the flags,
the gifts of small, red flowers
that adorned soldiers’ graves.

All day we counted, recorded
onto light green tally sheets.
Flags & flowers.  Flowers & flags.
In the evening, they marched us back.

They weren’t cruel to us—just scientific—
and as they began to serve us a hot meal,
we went back to being what we were: children.
Poppies were the only, actual touchstone

in a shifting paradigm.  But still we
couldn’t eat our whole, regular portions.
We just couldn’t.
We were thinking of Grover Pinky—

our beloved white rabbit—
newly dead in the kitchen drawer
that sad day in May.  As the albino rabbit
was placed in the dark ground

in the dim light of a cold moon
under drifting clouds that blackberry winter,
in that quiet place under a thicket of blossoming
brambles, we erected no marker as reminder.

Instead, we favored anonymity, uncounted shadows,
letting cumulous clouds float on by,
knowing anything tells the real story better than
flags and flowers, no matter what your hypothesis is.

This poem was first read for and presented to S. A. Griffin The Poetry Bomb in Hickory, NC on May 22, 2010.

Dual Perspective by Helen Losse

Posted in Helen Losse on August 29, 2009 by Scot

A fading light filters through
an open window, & from where I am,
I can see a pot of dark pink impatiens
under a layer of evening calm.  Inside,
a folded newspaper, an odd sock lay
on the glass coffee table, off to my left.

A balding man sleeps on a green chair,
his stone-cold tea—with a small wedge
of lime—forgotten, in a cup painted with
flowers the same fuchsia-color as those
already described.  A nominal breeze is
present but too slight to alter the picture.