WOMEN ON ZOOM
I looked behind me he said
Flowering cherries, a petal through the RAV4
Whole slice of grapefruit in the glass
I had a target there she mourned
Writers I say we’re scruffy our faucets
Need pliers to change the temps
What do you have to do with
Ponderosa chips lined up on the log
It is everyone’s hurt
The lake is great there’s so much western feeling
To hold onto inside it
Are you chilled yet?
To hold onto inside
Rename the sloping fringe
Golf Course
Solar Field
Bob Frost
Golf Frost
Bob Course
Solar Golf
Field Frost
You Must Have
A Good Memory
Course Course
Solar Bob
These RVs in the pines you see
Artists talked, shared their woes
With postage or mailing
She was beautiful but her life fell down
They were woeful, rich, each of them
Bound for Norway or recently returned from an encounter
On the high trail
Old rhymes from the mountainside
A meeting with a thing they’d dreamed
And other struggles to afford
La Vereda Steps: purple cones hanging down
An infelicitous moment in the dark
Misspeaking or some familiarity I’m sad to say truly sad
On Tax Day in Berkeley, California
Perched here in the facts
Ladona is in Texas and Karen is in Texas
Gwen’s face in the lower left corner
Forever and ever
Lower left Florida
Texas miles and Florida side
Whatever has happened to you
Through the gummy buff wet
Of Houston and Gage one cold April day
Do up that long brown hair
Azalea flowers so cold to say nothing of tulips
Lightly hissing rain and greyish leaf wet gum through which the man
Rode his bike, rolled his bike slowly, while his white standard poodle
Hopped on muddy legs around
What great truths might I practice today?
Acceptance
Acquiescence
Important personal goals
Deep inconsolable knowledge-vision
It’s a package there was so much going on!
At this moment there were fleets and goods oh the imperiled goods
The available arguments
Sad drowsy way life looks at you
Inner lives that fill and go out
Rage and righteousness or is it
Always burning and pleasant taking off pressure release
Of minor uncertainties
Another
Heroic roll of what’s worthy and nice
Big and occupying, strenuous
Crammed in the pleasing scorch
But wondering I gave myself away duh
Everyone alive who ever lived duh duh duh
“Consider the lilies of the field how they grow”
Upright in the fog
Then toppled over
A last
Blast
Blurt
It goes back to what are the contents of your mind
In the verse
Hauling mulch, spreading the black twigs around
Away from the soiled nest
On my knees pushing down
The slope in bitter flagrant scripts you think
This is bad and slash that everyone deserves
Going around the rotted stuff of my feet
Success and health
In the verse
For there is nothing
That leaves you not cold
As all these women on zoom
Must know
THE PROGRESS OF RHYME / THE CUSHION
-for Kai Ihns
That orchid at the yard sale’s like
this torso—arms raised, boobs out—
at St Vinny’s. And these effects hang
barely on an actual saint, 1581–1660,
who served the poor in Gascony.
Was he a brilliant fraud after all
despite literature and influence?
Likewise to find John Clare again
progressing in a field, over
taken by the natural languages.
It was in our hearts, ambition,
giant season w/ inner life, one
Wisconsin goth behind her cart.
But next to coax sweet Cora out.
The Midsummer Cushion, John failed
to get subscribers and make it print.
Unsupported for that would be—
Cora went below just now.
Pee pad adrift in right corner
toys or stick-like bone made
of nylon and natural flavorings.
They can be a choking hazard.
They can cause an upset stomach.
They can injure teeth.
There is no lack of concepts,
Cora fled to under it. I haven’t even
tried——do not slap body nose
get too close or talk
in the high-pitched voice of women
confronting what is small.
The chatty flow
to having just enough
of questioning. All maintains
what was a blow.
Inside a toppling time.
Work—struggle—misperceive, so
Cora took the treats. She’d been
wandering Kentucky then fell
into another’s trap. Then she
showed them where her babies lived
just so newly born.
Then she nursed them all.
Then they were transported
to this couch. Progress of rhyme?
It was a porta-a-john abandoned
in the back. Rhyme that wriggled
mewled and fed. If the vulnerable
are also strong, a strength demanding
recognition, well is
what is no longer that?
Unsure the category
I’d put this mid-late
winter cushion in
to pursue the retreating
bleat for the blooming
the under ones, just underneath.
Hannah Brooks-Motl was born and raised in Wisconsin. She is author of the poetry collections The New Years (2014), M (2015), Earth (2019), and Ultraviolet of the Genuine (2025), as well as chapbooks from the Song Cave, arrow as aarow, and The Year. She lives in western Massachusetts.