2 poems by Anne Higgins

The Missing Children

Their faces stare up
at me from the side
of cereal boxes,
from blue stamped
Have you seen
this child?
And now the age-enhanced
replica of
their faces
five years later,
with longer bones,
a futile hope,
for we know that they are
part of the forest ground,
where their hair and nails grow
long alone.
Or they have gone
through the Pied Piper’s door
in some mountain,
living in bondage,
forgetting themselves.

If Memory Serves Me

If Memory serves me,
she’s falling down on the job.
Very slow to retrieve,
from the crevices in the upholstery,
the names of students I taught last year.
Sloppy about dusting off
my awareness of things to be done.
She skips the sticky places of regret on the floor,
the wallet left behind in the ladies room.
She makes me travel the stairs twice,
and deserts me when I reach the top.
Not until the gnats cloud my face in the garden
does she show me the bug spray
still back in my closet.
She’s getting less reliable each year.
Slow-moving and ponderous,
she shuffles along the corridor,
thick-legged, swaying into the wall.


Published by

Jeremiah Walton

Jeremiah Walton is wary of writing a bio.

2 thoughts on “2 poems by Anne Higgins”

  1. This is poetry. Fine stuff. Never heard of the author nor she, I bet, of me. But I suspect our roots may lie somewhere between Kerry and Cork. Otherwise she stole the diction. Hope to read more.

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