Taneum Bambrick

Oven Street

Beside my apartment there was a church
with three lines of gold in its ceiling.

A little white dog that bit
a door handle, letting herself out to pee.

Two women who, every night, cried laughing
while they smoked. Their smoke

coming in through the window made it difficult
to be on top of you, breathing.

When we met, I knew
exactly how long I would be happy.

Willow Street

When, after four years, A left
she said I seemed unresolved about men.
That a single tragedy kept me
from fully discovering sex.
We used to pull our hair off a brush
and drop it out the window above our bed.
On a tree in the neighbor’s yard, a bird
stomped that hair into its nest.
One graying square
with a mark of bright eggs in it.