Salisbury, solitary, sings as if Isaiah in her—All Along the Watchtower edge and ridge of plain they ride for Warminster. Anger, broken in her, iron age, stone age, bone and barrow, is as if herFather yet not father photographed before the warUnfathomed by her— Anger of another relatively new to her beside her nowLike coulter—plough-hard,…
I want no more to do with what is understandable. There there. Only the lilliburlero of bird because it is songful. The lark ascending the air. Vaughan Williams’ Surrey local choir of ladies sorrowful between the wars. Only the dot and carry one of Clare who gave himself moon and stars to Northampton County Asylum…
Small mysteries. Leave unidentified that picture hidden in the dresser drawer and everyone in it, any reason for it, and who and where and why and when you were. Leave coins in babies’ shoes. Leave words on scraps of paper tucked inside coffee table books: galoshes, periwinkle, ménage a trois, calligraphy—maybe terrified. For the most…
A black man and a white man like two philosophical mates are engaged in a debate. What has only one syllable, and no eye, ear, or tongue, yet is God’s class-act creation? Night, says the black man. It has to be night that inspires rest and mystery. Day, says the white man. It has to…
from Chains From dawn to dusk and dusk to dawn, I, slaveto Sir John Hawkins, bound, emblackened crestupon his coat of arms of lion and wave,salute him, founder of the Chatham Chestthat succors seamen maimed in the Armada;salute him true in Spanish, French, Italian;salute him, most courageous founding fatherof Chatham Dockyard and the “race built…
“If you sold this place,” says my neighbor, “you could buy a little flat.” A little flat! One with no room for half my books, no stairs to keep my knees in flexible order, one in which on no morning would my eyes open to next door’s silver birch, self-sown in the days of Marjorie…
Somewhere there is order, a multiverse of order. I could have sewed that rip in the lining with special strong thread, washed pillows for the refugees, cut new gardenias to replace the yellowed blouses collapsed in the vase, called someone, hoping they’d be happy to hear from me. I could have faced the hard time…
The other camels hobbled nearby snort and chuff and in general make a lot of noise betwixt them. Though they are called ships of the desert, these camels are nothing like our fishing boats. They are good for milk and their turds are spectacularly fire-worthy. But none of us have yet figured out how to…
When the sun broke up the thunderheads, and dissonance was consigned to its proper place, the world was at once foreign and known to me, that was shame leaving the body. I had lived my life from small relief to small relief, like a boy pulling a thorn from his foot. Wet and glistening, twisting…
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