by Bernard Henrie
The wind surface drags across
the moon and bangs the shed door
in white drizzle. On the tar black
road a lone 18 wheeler
hauls tomatoes to Buffalo.
In our room, your face
illuminated by the cherry tip
of your cigarette.
The pockets of my great coat
are full of Bradford pears
and Richelieu apples. We’ll feed them
soon to the old horse, the two of us
before the children wake up.
by Bernard Henrie
It feels like autumn once again
and your foot brushes
my foot under the blanket.
as though your mother
still patrols the downstairs domain,
let’s talk and I will paint over
the day old roses with red nail polish
from your purse.
* This is the literal translation of the title of a film released in
Italian in 1978: La fine del mondo nel nostro solito letto in una notte
piena di pioggia, written and directed by Lina Wertmüller.
Bernard Henrie is a currency day trader living near Los Angeles. His
publication credits include MiPOesias, Shampoo, Quarterly Literary
Review Singapore, Cha, apt, Boston Literary Magazine, The
Cortland Review, and La Petite Zine. His work has earned two
Pushcart nominations. Mark Doty selected one of his poems as
second best for the year in the 2007 Interboard Poetry Competition.
On “Wednesday, Our 21st Anniversary” and
“The End of the World in Our Usual Bed in a Night Full of Rain”:
I hope these two poems prompt us to re-invent our love from time
to time. A long-married couple find intimacy in a shared act of
feeding their horse. Late, when the children are asleep, the two
will slip away and the moment becomes golden just for them. A
younger couple pretend they are in danger of discovery. The
narrator declares his intention to revitalize the relationship by
painting over the day-old roses. If you see it a little differently,
good. Each love is individual, a one of a kind.
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Apple Valley Review:
A Journal of Contemporary
Volume 5, Number 2
Copyright © 2010
by Leah Browning, Editor.
All future rights to material
published in the Apple
Valley Review are retained
by the individual authors
The End of the World
in Our Usual Bed
in a Night Full of Rain*