We drive through neighborhoods to look
at houses leafed in dusk-light, noting which
have corbeled windows and which

have shutters turning to the river,
where the sky has tinted the waters mauve
and wading birds touch the current

lighter than a skimming lure.
Is there a walk edged with green,
leading to a door of beveled glass?

Is there a span of yard
where old leaves on the evening
primroses graze the fluttery

new leaves on the witch hazel?
No one lists these other views:
the curl of chrome around

the refrigerator handle, the tiny
speckled orbs of orange scattered
across kitchen tile. I look

for your image reflected from
the shiny green side of a toaster,
listen for the future echo of footsteps

dancing up from the wooden floor.


In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.

Series Navigation← PrognosisGrenadilla →

Poet Luisa A. Igloria (Poetry Foundation web page, author webpage ) is the winner of the 2015 Resurgence Prize (UK), the world’s first major award for ecopoetry, selected by former UK poet laureate Sir Andrew Motion, Alice Oswald, and Jo Shapcott. She is the author of What is Left of Wings, I Ask (2018 Center for the Book Arts Letterpress Chapbook Prize, selected by Natasha Trethewey); Bright as Mirrors Left in the Grass (Kudzu House Press eChapbook selection for Spring 2015), Ode to the Heart Smaller than a Pencil Eraser (Utah State University Press, 2014 May Swenson Prize), Night Willow (Phoenicia Publishing, 2014), The Saints of Streets (University of Santo Tomas Publishing House, 2013), Juan Luna’s Revolver (2009 Ernest Sandeen Prize, University of Notre Dame Press), and nine other books. She is a member of the core faculty of the MFA Creative Writing Program at Old Dominion University which she directed from 2009-2015. In 2018, she was the inaugural Glasgow Distinguished Writer in Residence at Washington and Lee University. When she isn’t writing, reading, or teaching, she cooks with her family, knits, hand-binds books, and listens to tango music.

5 Replies to “Listings”

  1. No one lists these other views:


    Lush hedges, iron gates, beveled glass doors,
    patio doors opening to a river view of birds
    on the wing and gardenia petals wafted
    into rooms where there is no one there:
    I was looking for a home. This is a house.

    All it would have taken were those dancing
    figures, reflections on smudged chromes,
    the frolic of rolling oranges on speckled tiles,
    kitchens redolent with burning bagels,
    and those sounds we cuddle by as rain
    patters like little feet on windows we will
    look out of waiting for the peal of children
    running naked through the rain.

    —Albert B. Casuga

Leave a Reply to Luisa A. Igloria Cancel reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.