Poetry

  • A Hundred Fields

    a crane wakes me to say, fear is a thief.fear, the fog still on the shoulders of our fields, the rapeseed, the peat. in a barley field, a boyescapes Holodomor. grandmother sees him there.falls in love with him. did they embrace in that fielduntil wrinkled like walnuts? rather, they lived a life of common cruelty.she bore two…

  • Storyknife Rain

    for Erin Coughlin Hollowell Glory of rain, glory of sea ice silver as a fish crow’s wings carving sunrise, glory glory glory of moose big as a city bus grazing on rain-soaked grass, glory of fireweed that has lost its fine fall silk to wind, glory of beluga and humpback whale invisible from these downpour-beaten…

  • Blood astrology

    We’re standing atop the hill watching streaks of sunset fade over dimming buildings, you hold my waist from behind as I make eye contact with a dark blue raven in a tree just beyond the precipice. Farther than the tree you made me kneel behind as the wind lapped at my bare arms and the…

  • To Hear the Elf Owls

    We stand hushed on the patio. Stars fall—bright ash—between branches of the large mesquite leaning over us as the scientist—our unexpected guest—holds high the recording of elf owls hooting he’d magically found in his car. They’re in the saguaro, he whispers. They’ll answer. And silent we listen. Waiting for one then another owl to sound,…

  • Fort Amanda

    She didn’t know what they were —pebbles—the sounds rolling around in her father’s mouth like sour ball candies when he told her they would find them. Left behind by fairies, he said, in creeks and under leaves. Her father wore that look that said he was teasing, that it was all a joke but come…