Two poems by Cameron Morse

A Circular Arrangement



Whorl of dark hair on the scalp of my newborn

daughter Gigi, so thin her skin shows

through, and the red cloud of a rash. My life,

too, is a circular arrangement, a kind of circular

reasoning for one life to give meaning

to another. Gigi’s face averted, her cheek smooshed

in solemn, needful sleep is enshrined

in the white noise emanating from my iPhone


aglow among white leaves in the blue

print of the bedspread. I saw a photograph of myself

as a young man who could not imagine

having kids, the affirmation involved in that and now

I want a third magnolia to complete

the trinity of blooming trees.





The Geese



Twilight opens a window

on the drive home from Legend of Asia

with the kids in their car seats

for thousands of disparate geese flocks


for vast swarms to storm the house

momentarily vying for victory

over disbelief. I try explaining why that

letter of the alphabet to Theo,


who is learning his ABC’s, but can never