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The Amphitheater

Geese against gray sky over the penitentiary. Honking cries clearer than
gray-feathered bodies heavy like drums. Gray geese cry and cry over the
penitentiary.
Two women drive up a red convertible. They are at least seventy years
old. One wears a kelly green skirt-and-jacket suit; the other wears a
powder blue skirt-and-jacket suit. The two women are sisters.
Silence clearer than honking cries and cries over the penitentiary.
The two women sit with a rosy-cheeked man in the visitor's room. He
offers some corn chips to his mother, and then he offers some corn chips
to his aunt. He tells them about an inmate who aspires to dress hair. He
practices and practices. Now everyone has the same hair cut.
The man's mother asks if he hears the geese. Yes, he says, he lives in an
amphitheater of geese. Both women sit straight as they eat their corn
chips. The man compliments them on their lovely tailored suits.

This poem appears in the 2000 Anthology
View all poems by Kaia Sand