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The one you have finished examining is my son. That is the milky colored Kurdish suit his father tailored for him, the blue shirt his uncle gave to him. Your findings prove that it is him—he was a tall fifteen-year-old, was left-handed, had broken a rib. I know she too has been looking for her…

        Badria Saeed Khidir and Ayshe Maghdid Mahmud Bombs could fall anywhere, any time of the day. They were a nuisance we got used to. In our dug-out shelters we felt safe, until that haunting winter twilight when the muffled explosions deceived us. We came out thinking we’d survived the bombs but…

And Satan said unto the Lord, “You have your work             and I have mine, but there is no sin the world cannot hold,” and the Lord, he laughed himself a big one,             and said, “Satan, my friend, you are a sucker beyond all Tootsie Pops, for I will raise up a storm             that will take…

         for Mark Tredinnick, in north Cornwall For each turn off a main-er           road onto a minor, each place                     less signed, more inside itself (the turned back           of a corrugated shed,                     its roof weighted with tires, three milk churns on their concrete shelf) you could believe you’re one step closer to the…

This is not a small poem about loss or disappointment. This is a runnel with no use for a bridge, a curtain wall with no dead load, a road with no bend to my door. This is a forest with no trees. This cannot be foreseen. This is me, opening my mother’s spool box, taking…

Because something as broken and hurt as this should never be put on show, we buried it. No blight of sun nor weight of soil nor bleach of rain, we thought, would ever let it thrive. But given a month or so, somehow it shouldered back into the light. One seed head, sallow, awned, pitted…

As when icy illness ends that you never expected    Could possibly end, and the terrified body, enveloped In warm water, reposes, you could kiss every child on the hand,    Every leaf in the forest, every stone of the wall. A low moan escapes The mouth. Melancholia, the accompanying spirit, is departing with    Her ratty wings…

                                                       Maybe I should be locked in a cage in the center of the village, a sign the judge ordered me to carve hung around my neck to warn the children…

           In homage to Harry Houdini Driven to stunt after stunt:     handcuffed in water, buried underground you would emerge triumphant.     Cops double-locked their cells but you broke out. Rivals without your ingenuity,     never collected that ten thousand dollars you laid down. You shook off any…