Jennifer O’Grady

March 21, 2016 OGrady Jennifer



Evenings when the children

are fast asleep and day begins

its shading to dusk,


from the shelter of our

screened porch we watch

their brief


transformations: small orbs

blinking like unintelligible signals

above the groundcover


then vanishing, only

to appear somewhere else:

beneath, say, the arms


of the ornamental pear

or over by the broken gate

no one can enter,


their cold light

strange proclamations of love

or hunger, faint sparks


pricking the darkness

filled with its tense

promise of rain, invisible clouds


holding it in.

Who really knows

another, what each


is capable of

if the moment is ripe?

When day comes and we


can no longer see them

they are there still,

unaccounted for


in the outer all-encompassing light.

Jennifer O’Grady’s book White (1999) won the Mid-List Press First Series Award for Poetry. Her poems have appeared in Harper’s, The New Republic, Poetry, The Yale Review, The Kenyon Review, The Georgia Review, Southwest Review, Green Mountains Review and many other places, and have been anthologized and featured on Poetry Daily and The Writers Almanac. Also an award-winning playwright, she lives near New York City. (