2 Poems by Mark J. Mitchell


In a black dory, an old woman rocks,
fishing. Her line snags on forgotten books.

A boy swims grimly, out past the gray point.
Past the surf line. Through the tide. Out of sight.

A wrecked wooden boat, threatening, starts to sway
into the channel, breaking this heedless sea.

In the hold, a dark woman cooks something.
You may taste it, but you must sing.


She took her sudden vow seriously,
setting the eggplant on top of a trash can.
It looked flat as an altar.

She bowed east, to the hill, then west, 
towards another hill. South
at the vanishing bus, then north.

She left her brand new shoes
outside a perfectly red door.
She dropped her keys in the left shoe.

She smiled before sealing the room
behind her. Her last words are 
“These are my last words.”

Mark J. Mitchell was born in Chicago and grew up in southern California. His latest poetry collection, Roshi San Francisco,was just published by Norfolk Publishing. Starting from Tu Fu   was recently published by Encircle Publications. A new collection, Something to Be and a novel are forthcoming. He is very fond of baseball, Louis Aragon, Miles Davis, Kafka and Dante. He lives in San Francisco with his wife, the activist and documentarian, Joan Juster where he made his marginal living pointing out pretty things. Now, he’s looking for work again. He has published 2 novels and three chapbooks and four full length collections so far. His first chapbook won the Negative Capability Award. Titles on request.

A meager online presence can be found at https://www.facebook.com/MarkJMitchellwriter/

A primitive web site now exists: https://www.mark-j-mitchell.square.site/

I sometimes tweet @Mark J Mitchell_Writer