2 Poems Jennifer Tynes



WHEN YOU SHOVEL SNOW FROM THE SIDEWALK, CAR, WHERE DOES ALL THE SNOW GO.



The carpet takes us to heart.

The oven is a grimy pumpkin.

A squash shaped blossom forms around one nipple like an aureole

or areola.



The book that was lent us is on the shelf.

Not propping up anything-

If you are not a driver it's hard to know which way to putter.



Does it contain more than one word to say a body's halo.



You have to look when a vehicle passes, it could be your cousin.

They usually cut across the yard and pull in here sideways.





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OF AMERICAN FORESTS



Founded upon certain wild legends I have grown both teeth and the desire to flourish.



"A certain plank-walker that would rather call this reading than learning," losing face is each separate plank mouthing off.



Do you speak with your hands or learn a trade?



Along the edges of woods, whispers about whether this can be anything other than sheer material.



Forestry, I am going flatter than a mouth-piece.



From a limited possibility mindset, I may pick at holes and hide the perennials but there is always the instinct to spring.



If you meant that, when the speakers of the houses broke into their own voices and flew away in a faction.



The darkened body of the crane is always reserving a little water.



A fallen crop in a forest is admitting he is lonely, and then they have to go and talk all over him.