• Jennefer York Cole

Jennefer York Cole, two poems

A City Square

your eyes slide to the right taking mine with them past

our pints and popcorn over

the heads of benches in the crowded square around

the circling carousel carrying the screams

of horses planes and cars full of young happy

faces split in two by circles of surprise under

the hands of the tower clock that slowly make their way to a quieter space off to the side

where with the gentle touch of hands in step to another rhythm only they can hear two dancers swing in a graceful swirl of fabric


the city pavement

the carousel stops

the tower's face takes a moment to look

down and we all watch the swallows flirt overhead

wingtip brushing wingtip then moving


my eyes come back in time to see

the feel of your fingers touching mine

intertwined as your foot taps out a silent song


the table in a city square


Evening arrived, found me inside the bathroom on

the hard tile floor connected to the outside world

by a receiver and a long rubber cord escaping under

the door from around my younger finger.

I wound, unwound,

and rewound the wire; and the timer ticked down as lines

formed to be next. Darling. Love. You are the only one.

Calling voices caressed my ear, words whispered kept,


folded pieces of paper in an old perfume box tied

tight with black string at the back of my underwear drawer;

hidden beneath little lacy, grown-up numbers.

And you study wires.

One blue, one brown, to ground the new light

over the toilet in our bathroom. I pass you the clippers

to cut the cords and hold the ladder steady as we talk

about which picture frames to hang on the walls.


Born and raised on the Eastern Shore of the US, Jennefer Cole now lives and works in Paris as an English teacher and Head of the Bilingual Section of a local high school. She tries to voice the struggles some woman might feel today trying to fit the boxes of "wife, lover, mother" all the while not losing their own identity by taking bits and impressions of her various worlds here in France and back in the US.

169 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All

In the ditch a deer carcass, no head from You Are Happy by Margaret Atwood It was a silent beauty I found, had yearling antlers, much more than the horny buttons of a fawn. Its fleshy muscles would pr

The Bigness of the Herd I can never get over the bigness of the herd, the stampede of clouds cascading over the warehouse, I-70’s commercial river of blood lights: heads or tails? Nothing could be mor