Poetry
Leaving Iowa
In fact, we barely knew your slim thicketof zip codes could be so easily shruggedfrom memory, there wasn’t even a backseat side-eye.We don’t belong to..
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Poetry
Showing 361-384 of 691 pieces
Poetry
Corners
The bat carries starson the undersidesof her wings. Her head is the tipof galaxyher body a velvetcometshattering nightwith its jagged arcof flight. Her thumbs &..
Poetry
This is an orange, round tablet
Autumn starts when the trees give up drinking.An appointment is madein the ditch of Lake Meadand the hairy hands,tented on mahogany,speak calmly,which can only augur..
Poetry
Subjectionable
The world sounds lovely over my left shoulder.A dog barks. A bird is chirping. The white rush of two-ton metal trucks on the asphalt. I am..
Poetry
Our Lady of Corona
Hail Mary, full of Grace, Mother of God, Mother of Angels, Sacred Virgin,Knower of unknown unknowns, Arbiter of the end of the beginning:let it be…
Poetry
Now That I Am Dead
I have so much to tell you,now that I am dead. I left my native soil in 1895 to seeka land as warm as gold,..
Poetry
Frangipani behind the Ear
We return to the Grand Pacific Hotelin Suva, Fiji, but it is not the way it was or what we thought it was:the cold lobster almost..
Poetry
Keep Her Out of the Tent
There’s a temporary campground, with a tent,billowing-white, just off Sprague Ave. in Tacoma. Keep your daughter home. Make popcorn with salt,buttery-warm. Let her watch the..
Poetry
Retreat
The tiny cottage in the woods is abandoneduntil the woman whose husband drinkstakes refuge thereafter a bender,without regret.The woman loves her husband,and this is how..
Poetry
Contours of Affection
A pedicure is an archaeological expedition, if those feet belong to your mother. A part of this country was your beginning of history. A faded..
Poetry
Apprenticeship, Oil with China Bristle Brush: “Landscape avec des Moutons” #5
(Rosa Bonheur, Rue des Tournelles, Paris 1836) My easel billetedbetween stove and painting chest,Most mornings Papa teachesat an atelier for young ladies,later portrait sittings–a Portuguesefactory..
Poetry
In The Footsteps of Telemachus
Image etched by Antoine Jean Duclos (French, Paris 1742–1795 Paris) CategoriesPoetry
Poetry
Skyline
That summer at the ranch, one seasonbefore Stanley hung himself in the toolshed,with rope worn from countless tie-downs–choosing his own handiwork over cancer–there was a..
Poetry
Form
I’ve never before been intosomeone with such small breastsI like my hands to overflow with themto see their teardrop formblood rushes to imagine the color..
Poetry
Fodder
I guess I could discuss phantoms and pharaohsand the places in between them,or rhyme schemes and what is palatable. it’s been weeksof perpetual reflection.I’ve been..
Poetry
Hiking Through
Consider the space between A B,the middle sister nobody sees,or the last invited, all set to gobut left behind wearing a new green coat,speechless, while..
Poetry
Lumphini Park
Bangkok, Thailand The white egrets in the treetuck up their legs, as still asthe noon heat. In last night’s dreammy high school flamehad been left..
Poetry
Creation Myth
When they buried me they put all my statuesIn the very ditch in which I was to be put. Next they put in my estate,Then my..
Poetry
After the Funeral
I hope morning is only a suggestion.I hope we linger in bed to memorizeSpring spilling warm sky outside,a collage of our lives as rose-lit. I..
Poetry
Her Smile Like Once Upon A Time
a night of a friday on the table next to many empty bottlesi have a penholder two packs of cigarettesa desk lamp and a notebook.on..
Poetry
You Will Leave This Place Behind
Zanskar, 1921 Your body will be placed on a large flat rock,High on a ridge in the mountains.The carrion birds are circling,Great wings block the..
Poetry
Inventing Words
condifluoia/ˈkɒndɪfluːɪɑ/noun: condifluoia; plural noun: condifluoia 1. the specific scent of tea leaves inboiling water when it soaks in sixstrands of freshly grated ginger on thehand-shredder,..
Poetry
Pirouettes in Bed
i’m drinking spring water in your bedroom naked head swept back and i can feel you watching my every move or memorizing my arms as..
Poetry
Mr President
I need to tell you about the old man sitting cross-legged on the crackedconcrete outside the Life building lifting drowningants out of a puddle with..