Lawrence Ypil (b. 1978)
SELECTED POEMS
Porch
Because it was what we thought
was meant by family: Laughter.
A new house. A party in the garden
where the tables were filled with young faces.Who did not want this true
and tender accomplishment? This just
reward handed over to the world’s honest men,
its citizens. Every houserested on its joys. So when one of the guests
nudged a glass when she was telling a joke
which fell on the floor and broke,we laughed. We were accountable
merely for our own mistakes and
committedd solely. And everything was
part of the good story, really.How could we not love what it cost?
Crack on the marble floor just set,
dent on a polished
kitchen door. A small window
overlooks the children, one nimble,
one frail, balancing on the far
edge of the porch.
by Lawrence Ypil
from The Highest Hiding Place: Poems (2009)