Jennifer MacBain-Stephens

Dog Park

He says Nothing you is too much for me
and I’m like a dog when you come to visit

I want to feel the wolf hair of his dog park days
because his forearms are warm

He is dog park on sun Sundays
and any day with hind leg dancing and sprinting and pant

He is dog park in naps of sweet paw grass and eyes
so sparkle and rainbow blue green essence

over a misty back yard garden
hauling haunches and wet kisses

after work or during or before
or water breaks stolen

He feels dog park to me in two weeks
when he runs back to me away from the pack

He dog parks me tonight when we meet under the covers
and play and roll over one another

He feels my mouth and I feel his dog park shoulders
and the bruise of him

the pound of his dog days forever music
and I want to be his dog park too

and never close

Massage Table

your florid little hand
makes me feel completely alone

massage the blood forward
and back again slowly

beauty is supposed to protect me
how odd fingers are

climb to heights
but don’t touch

this outrageous relaxation
snap stop it

I failed in my head conversation:
a pain demonstration

but that’s what I signed up for

This is a Found poem. Text from Rice, Anne. Exit to Eden. New York: Harper Collins, 1985. Print. Pages 188-189.

Jennifer MacBain-Stephens went to NYU’s Tisch School of the Arts and now lives in Iowa where she likes to rock climb. She is the author of four poetry collections and fifteen chapbooks and enjoys exploring how to blend creativity with nurturing the earth. Recent work appeared in The Westchester Review, Cleaver, Dream Pop, and Grist. She also hosts a free, monthly reading series sponsored by Iowa City Poetry called Today You Are Perfect. Find her at