Some things are damned to erupt like wildfire, windblown, like wild lupine, like wings, one after another leaving the stone-hole in the greenhouse glass. Peak bloom, a brood of blue before firebrand. And, though it is late in the season, the bathers, also, obey. One after another, they breathe in and butterfly the surface: mimic…
what is this daisy doing to the ground it is goring what am I doing to this daisy I am saving this mean black daisy mine into dye or stippling crippling the country its great love landing in a cloud of sorts of course a malodor clot going strangle the singers who will not sing…
As I was writing this introduction, a series of fierce storms began hitting sections of south central Iowa. Several weeks ago, an Iowa town named Parkersburg was completely destroyed, and the media focused on the efforts of the townspeople to contain the disaster. The storms persisted throughout most of Iowa, with extreme winds and torrential…
You’re not still casting the insides of things, are you? —Question asked of Rachel Whiteread in response to her sculpture “Embankment” To see a thing whitely with edge pour concrete, plaster, polyethylene. Yes, a cast water bottle. Yes, a staircase and a chair. Yes, the space underneath the bed where I…
Thunder rode glories out towns thin things Had we perceptual capacities enough & & lime Had lived here sixteen ten times atomica ten times pieces ten times the situation ten glories ten slender life-giving stories Story time tuned to a circular crucifix score Fixed score scores more
A year after my father was called before the McCarthy subcommittee, the acne began to appear, and nothing I did prevented the blotches from rising and spreading like a small red army over my cheeks and chin. I tried calamine, witch hazel, all seven lotions from the pharmacy on Sixth Avenue, and finally a paste…
Lie down long beside your confirmation number And be my garden The orders of magnitude will mount And thunder past us This is the part When you put everything away Where no one can tell The difference between the wind And a human being The haze has migrated to the other eye…
Eleven years ago I wrote a poem about looking for feminine protection in El Corte Inglés in Madrid. It seems I was always starting my period in cities I didn’t know well. The first time I went to Miami, for the book fair, I felt a cramp, then a squirt, right as I was about…
Katya is searching for her glasses. They were just here. One minute ago, on the counter, the big brown glasses. Without them, everything is waxy. She lays her hand on the cool Formica and makes a brushing motion. Keys, coffee mug, phone book. Two different pens. Why are there so many pens? She has never…
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