Two Poems by Liza Katz Duncan

By LIZA KATZ DUNCAN 

A White House against a blue sky, with a watertower on top.

Raritan Bayshore, New Jersey 


At the Old Aeromarine Site

First the marsh grass came, then the motherwort,
then bitterberry and honeysuckle. Blackbirds,
gulls and grackles built their nests.
Mourning doves call from the eaves
of the old factory, closed during the Depression,
though the building seems to be somewhat in use:
a No Trespassing sign, an Elton John song
coming in from someone’s bike stereo.
By the overgrown gate, a few trucks are parked,
and a trailer advising: Never Give Up
On Your Dreams! Own a Street Rod.
A friend sent me here to search for a rookery
of wading birds, but I haven’t found anything.
If they nested here at all, they’d be up to 90 feet high,
or buried in thickets of salt grass. Others, too, come here
when they don’t want to be found: on the guardrail
overlooking the bay, two teenage lovers
share a kiss, and then a joint, huffing
smoke into each other’s eyes, then startling
onto their backs, laughing. Late spring
a kind of emptying out: why
do I imagine they’re saying their goodbyes?

A river carves through a marshy patch of land

Keeping Track

This week’s unseasonable frost killed
the magnolia before bloom. Brittle-brown
frostbuds waiting to drop.

On his podcast, Joe says take notes,
record observations. Keep track
of changes over your lifetime,

your children’s, your grandchildren’s.
Through the open window, a train whistle,
fire trucks, and the laughter

of children across the creek, a creek so small
Google Maps doesn’t register it as water.
I always take the same photo,

though there will be no children, no
grandchildren—whose lifetime, then,
is this for? I give myself permission

to be supremely selfish. At the creek, a catbird
on a cairn. Crabs skitter across the muddy
shoreline. Felled trees will become the pages
where we chart swells and falls, flames and ashes.

 

Liza Katz Duncan is the author of Given (Autumn House Press, 2023), which won the Autumn House Press Rising Writer Award. Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in AGNIAbout Placethe Kenyon Review, Poem-a-DayPoetry, Poetry Northwest, and elsewhere. Liza grew up in New Jersey and holds an MFA in Poetry from Warren Wilson College. She teaches English as a Second Language in New Jersey public schools.

From the beginning, The Common has brought you transportive writing and exciting new voices. We are committed to supporting writers and maintaining free, unrestricted access to our website, but we can’t do it without you. Become an integral part of our global community of readers and writers by donating today. No amount is too small. Thank you!

Two Poems by Liza Katz Duncan

Related Posts

Picture of purple house and mountains

Dutch Blitz

CIGAN VALENTINE
We bite into the cake. I taste the house in it, the workings of a stranger’s hands. I taste the dirt covering everything, the metallic water, the towering blue sky. The cake has sunk into itself in the middle, so each piece is slightly soggy, the apple tasting too earthy, the sugar sitting too heavy. 

February 2026 Poetry Feature: Fatimah Asghar and Shane Moran

FATIMAH ASGHAR
i cursed the frog / that found its way into / my house. murderous, i laid / poison for the ants. i threw / my moon in the trash. / when he cheated, i wished / him a hall of mirrors. / doomed to endless versions / of him. i prayed they’d undo / each other. & they did. i took / from the earth without permission."

Mountain, Stone

LENA KHALAF TUFFAHA
Do not name your daughters Shaymaa, / courage will march them / into the bullet path of dictators. / Do not name them Sundus, / the garden of paradise calls out to its marigolds, / gathers its green leaves up in its embrace. / Do not name your children Malak or Raneem, / angels want the companionship