Dana Goodyear

May 13, 2012 Goodyear Dana



Those last days in Hollywood—

Where were we going? We didn’t know—

the johns came at midnight

and flung their broken condoms

to the ground; the next day, someone

dumped a car seat at our hedge.

Growling made it worse, those few times

we tried to sleep, curling from the sound

of hunger coming through the bedroom wall.

The furnace burnt the underbrush;

electricity sizzled in the pool;

dry as hands, the poison leaves

of the poison tree flew from the roof,

where one night, years ago, while

we watched “Play Misty for Me,”

wind played the fence wires’

anguished vocal cords, a lowing

loud as a mourning cow.

This imperfect world.

We are going, we are almost gone.

An accident: your globe dashed,

blue fragments puzzling the floor,

a cosmic question on your face.

Dana Goodyear’s first book, Honey and Junk: Poems, was published by W. W. Norton, in 2005. Her new collection, The Oracle of Hollywood Boulevard, comes out in January. Her poetry has appeared in several journals, including The Paris Review, Yale Review, American Poetry Review, and The New Yorker, where she is a staff writer.  She lives in Los Angeles.