Two Poems — Carolyn Guinzio


A Cessna is descending
over the lake, courted
by gleaming gulls.
The executives and pilot
share the lowly breath
of the swollen-
throated birds to which
their vessel nods.
Closer, closer,
to the blinding lake.
Where human life creeps
into the water like oil,
field trippers balance
their paper bags and popcorn
against the precarious
edge. They pause in circling
the domes of the oceanarium
and planetarium to watch
the shadow move across the water,
marking the elusive
hollow where the lake contains
our beginning. The Everglades
may claim their shrimp-
tinged flamingo, but here,
the legs of herring gulls
are yellowing on corn.



In Kensington, the Pearl
of Southern Chicago,
there are no kings entombed
with their garnet-collared
cats and attendants balancing
sumptuous bowls on their ribs.
Serpents do not come
into their own, shadowed clarity
each day at the true three p.m.
Still, the dust of its relics
blows down over the taverns,
where in stone, the raised letters
spell: Schlitz. Lead-filled murals
chip in the face of the lake effect,
scarring the faces that work
toward a common goal.
Oh, but when it was new,
and oh, when it will be again.
The alderman himself will bear
buckets and vows. This time,
it’s going to be different.

typo magazine — issue three