- Grete Writes to Georg at War
You’ve started to writeabout black horses again,dear, but I can only envy
the mouse with his quick,imperfect heart. My ownis churlish, rimed, too slow.
I’ve been drifting, lately,collecting bobbins sinceyou left. What you don’t
know is that your goingwas an ocean. The hollowI could call love. I heard
you saw men dead in a field.
G, you might have been the prize.The salt packed in my organs,the magnificent shore.
I would give myself upto your hands, finallyplanchette, your silent, dear queen. [End Page 168]
Caitlin Bailey holds an mfa from Hamline University where she served as an assistant poetry editor for WaterStone Review. Her poems have appeared in Hayden’s Ferry Review, Sugar House Review, Bateau, Carolina Quarterly, Paper Darts, and elsewhere.