Since my chronic bad luck Vanished in my love’s deck of cards, I step around them softly, I won’t open the window on windy days. I unpin her long black hair And strip down her dress myself, Lest their flutter stirs the dead air And make the cards fly. I tell her, Don’t even think…
translated from the Ukrainian by Lisa Sapinkopf and the author O conductor of candles! Eyes shimmer with reflections . . . Black web of shadows, break apart for an instant— Yes, for just the single gesture with which he tears off his gloves I’d accept even more than my earthly travails! Conductor of…
Nothing is like the theater. Backstage, with eighty children I fight through wastes of plastic bags to youthful refugees. They drop hairpins, lose their shirts or ask for biscuits, Play guessing games or scrap till they are needed. The oldest cries. The youngest, in a corner, Intent as God, smears blue above her eyes. …
My chicken soup thickened with pounded young almonds. My blend of winter greens. Dearest tagliatelle with mushrooms, fennel, anchovies, Tomatoes and vermouth sauce. Beloved monkfish braised with onions, capers And green olives. Give me your tongue tasting of white beans and garlic, Sexy little assortment of formaggi and frutta. I want to drown with you…
Hard to believe how popular I was. At Mt. Ephraim High School where I was in ninth grade that spring. Counted ten, twelve, sixteen, nineteen new friends! Not just boys in my class but popular juniors and seniors, athletes began to notice me, smiled and called me Doll, Doll-girl, Ingrid, In-grie. Word spreads fast, who…
Just after I had landed my first job— they needed busboys at the Mexican chain restaurant that opened where Lake crossed Route 17, an intersection known in town for being dangerous—we met. Among my new responsibilities was polishing the silverware, he said while pointing a dull butter knife at me. He plunged it in a…
The leaves made us think Of a letter trembling in someone’s hand. In fact, many letters in many hands, And then they no longer did. There was a bedraggled old woman Walking With two gray boards on her back Joined into a cross To cook her dinner with, And then, We were somewhere else.
Words sat up and behaved when James Merrill was around. Whether poetry or prose, Merrill’s writing always sounded like it fell from a tree, perfect from the start. His memoir, A Different Person, was no exception. In it, Merrill explored his early life as a young poet, a dutiful son, and a gay man in…
A wolf whose eyes glow red and jaws close quick meets the voluptuous Miz Nude Bo-Peep beside a shepherd with a crooked stick: and, ever after, they enthrall lost sheep. The wolf prowls round the shed. Straw, timber, brick— he’ll blow through walls, smash every windowpane. But wait—he’ll cut the sheep a deal. It’s trick…
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