Carole Weinstein Poetry Prize
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Every day a wilderness — no
shade in sight. Beulah
patient among knicknacks,
the solarium a rage
of light, a grainstorm
as her gray cloth brings
dark wood to life.

Under her hand scrolls
and crests gleam
darker still. What
was his name, that
silly boy at the fair with
the rifle booth? And his kiss and
the clear bowl with one bright
fish, rippling

Not Michael —
something finer. Each dust
stroke a deep breath and
the canary in bloom.
Wavery memory:  home
from a dance, the front door
blown open and the parlor
in snow, she rushed
the bowl to the stove, watched
as the locket of ice
dissolved and he
swam free.

That was years before
Father gave her up
with her name, years before
her name grew to mean
Promise, then
Long before the shadow and
sun’s accomplice, the tree.


By Rita Dove
Recipient of the 2014 Carole Weinstein Poetry Prize

"Dusting" from Thomas and Beulah
Carnegie Mellon University Press, Pittsburgh, PA.
Copyright © 1986 by Rita Dove.
Reprinted by permission of the author.

© 2006 Carole Weinstein. All rights reserved.