Maureen Thorson’s first book of poems, Applies to Oranges, is available from Ugly Duckling Presse. She is also the author of several chapbooks, including Mayport, winner of the Poetry Society of America’s National Chapbook Series for 2006. She lives in Washington, DC, where she co-curates the In Your Ear reading series at the DC Arts Center.
Maureen Thorson
Maureen Thorson: The Pirate Cure
Maybe you’d never have heard of our particular plights— Spino-fibularia, rosecutter’s ill – strange maladies That guarded themselves harmlessly within our hearts Until some irritant arose or some passion bottled up, Unexercised. Too frail to lift even a page, we layered Recliners and sofas with the thin coverlets of our bodies. But, sick though we […]
Maureen Thorson: The Eyepatch
See my pirate eye? Blank canvas, Drawn shade. Paint it black, you say? Well, there’s a fine flesh wrinkle, Planks clanking with the cannon. Haul out those long toms, dearie, We’ll be getting matey behind The wheelhouse, in the rigging, My long mustache dripping salt, Sash of bullets slid over my chest, Greatcoat hovering like […]
Maureen Thorson: The Daughter of Israel Hand
Years later, the pirates come. I love them, their long knives And thick axes. If only I Could keep them from Upgrading, from making Climactic sea-battles all Digital swagger instead Of cannonballs and fire. I Love their rough ways, say If the pirates got you hooked Up, good. They treat people Of all races equally, […]
Maureen Thorson: Tomatoes
Hours spent parting the vines in search of blossoms, hauling the gallons and slopping them over bristling stalks. A gross promise of fertility. Last winter, I dreamed of red valleys stung with growing lanterns, a rustle on the wind. But the vines are fruitless and the air is still. Still I bring the water, thinking […]
Maureen Thorson: Three Squares and No Funning
They linger in the evening round the chuckwagon, slurping beans and thinking of apple pie, of Sunday chicken dinners. When they wake, there’ll be coffee burnt and stretched like it was hiding something Cookie wanted to know. There’s a human price to the stock that comes through Abilene, and you can count it in lost […]