Poetry

  • Shot in the Foot

    What’s it like now to be shot in the foot by yourself, when you were aiming elsewhere and didn’t want   any kind of trouble? How else could you frustrate yourself more, what with your foot oozing blood,   and the gun smoke clouding the air so you can’t think, and that bird you wanted…

  • Lying on the floor

    mistranslation after “Fellah” by Taha Muhammad Ali   You: Beethoven I mean to say: Mr. Beethoven I don’t get it: I spend the day removing obstacles, Me and all my neighbors, we’ve covered all the bases But behind our backs, on the phone, the sun still going up and down There are those who hurt…

  • Sestina with Barn and Bird

    By ten o’clock she’s cleaned the house and can measure bourbon into her cup. Who will save her now? No answer. The fetus flips and scoots inside her belly, then sleeps as quiet as the lamb that lies down with the wolf, its sovereign other. Improbably in that tiny Brooklyn apartment, Nina’s baby pulls cells…

  • The blue sea

    the green road is long and deep into the mountain eventually it meets the blue sea you are the feet that deep independently I wish I could show you the way I the rich blue bells and ringing the glass stretched out with your father, the sea but the green road longs for you independent…

  • Schoolgirl

    The love rose in my heart has wilted The love bug The news on the transistor A nice man with a ponytail says It’s understandable If you wanted to leave here for there They were burying the evidence Structurally Boys in prison cells And outside the kids play stretcher One of them was dying Between…

  • When Young: Unpainted Masks

    The faces changing in the rooms’ changing light were just the beginning of stories, unwritten, untold, hardly imagined, whose flickering hid promises of the expected, of loves, of works to come, deeper in the plot, and the edge of thinking pressed against the heart like an argument, its rupture, loss of blood, the near-death scene,…

  • At the Rehab

    One night you lay half in the dark Holding a framed picture And studied your granddaughters’ faces By the light of the reading lamp Whispering their names to yourself As you tapped each face with your finger And kept your focus steady As the beam’s illumination Worried about the shadow That would cross their faces…