Poetry
Much as he left it when he went from us Here was the room again where he had been So long that something of him should be seen, Or felt — and so it was. …
Do not weep, maiden, for war is kind. Because your lover threw wild hands toward the sky And the affrighted steed ran on alone, Do not weep. War is kind. Hoarse, booming drums of the …
The damn thing tried to kill me and make it look like an accident. It was a sinister dark red, the color you’d get if you added black ink to blood. I bought it for …
Inside, we meet a young physician, an American from Minnesota, a year out of medical school. When he first came to Mother Teresa’s he always wore his surgical mask, always treated his patients with the …
Last night, driving home from rehearsal, tender from singing Bach, Bleib Bei Uns, “Stay with Us, for the Evening is Coming and the Day Draws to an End,” turning into Oak Street, I saw in …
In the room where we lie, light stains the drawn shades yellow. We sweat and pull at each other, climb with our fingers the slippery ladders of rib. Wherever our bodies touch, the flesh comes …
In a field of flowers two abandoned bicycles. ♪ Busy with words he drinks the fly in his cup. ♪ Dark night: no refuge from the banging gate. ♪ my new fix-it-yourself manual used as …
Whoever you are, I fear you are walking the walks of dreams, I fear these supposed realities are to melt from under your feet and hands; Even now, your features, joys, speech, house, trade, manners, …
If I can stop one Heart from breaking I shall not live in vain If I can ease one Life the Aching Or cool one Pain Or help one fainting Robin Unto his Nest again …
I remember sex before my husband as a vague, vagrant landscape of taller, darker men, all thick hair and hands, the full lips of the rich past. And sometimes, when I’m taking a sidewalk full …
Vanna, 1987?–1995 Dogs love us uncomplainingly because They see us in a way we never do. They don’t have sense enough to see our flaws The way we fear our lovers’ fangs and claws. Blondi …
When I see a dead deer on the side of Rte. 17 West, its hind legs pointing up to the sky stiff as sticks, its body crumpled and still, I think of you in the …
— For Claire He is so ugly he is a psalm to ugliness, this extra-terrestrial, short-haired midget sea lion, snorts, farts, grunts, turns somersaults on his mistress’ bed. She calls him an imperfect Boston terrier, …
They are not long, the weeping and the laughter, Love and desire and hate: I think they have no portion in us after We pass the gate. They are not long, the days of wine …
Take this kiss upon the brow! And, in parting from you now, Thus much let me avow — You are not wrong, who deem That my days have been a dream; Yet if hope has …