I was left out I was chosen second & then left out I was left handed I was left to fend for myself I was the second in command I was the second in line I came without directions * I want the milk I want my first pick I want choice & all…
for Raul Acero Secure the base So the flesh will have something To cling to; wrap wire Around the wood and Fill with clay, liberally; No, continue to add Clay—more than it seems You will ever need for his Indented cheeks—and slap More onto the base of the skull; Don’t forget the constellation Of bones…
Way out on the horizon— on the thinnest blue line sail thirteen sailboats with white sails. And all of them bear the name of one woman sailing out thirteen times out of lives and sight. With her faith in hurricanes and alcohol and the Coast Guard off-duty for the day, this time she may be…
My brother went to Indiana and came back dead. From the ice-blasted plains he wrote me one letter. “Class is hard. My roommate smells like a horse. I have a job as a security guard. A car would be good. Send curry.” My mother sent the chicken dripping onto plastic in a box; the car…
translated by Marilyn Hacker He wants to have The operation but He’s crazy The doctors are Crazy and then Raising her voice to The heavens she told him Never! He just needs simple Cucumber compresses A lot of love Anyway if he dies She’ll kill herself.
So, God takes your child by the hand and pulls her from her deathbed. He says: “Feed her, she is ravenous.” You give her fruits with thick hides —pomegranate, cantaloupe— food with weight, to keep her here. You hope that if she eats enough the light and dust and love which weave the matrix of…
Is there a print left by the toes upon the umbered surface of the stone on which the farmer’s daughter stepped in the springtime to reach the top of the fence between the cornfield and the water meadow— I would like to have inquired whether somewhere there does not remain the trace of her delicate…
It’s hard to stop looking for something without simultaneously giving up hope. I don’t know how. Buddhists learn the art of nonattachment, or they say they do. But have you ever seen a Buddhist lose his car keys? I have, and they’re just like the rest of us. Now that I was in my thirties,…
One morning the people of the capital awoke to dozens of bronze statues: in front of parliament, a horse and rider both the size of Great Danes; behind the concert hall, a waif in a tutu on a tree stump playing a huge violin. In the library lobby, a creature with a low forehead, protruding…
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