Poetry

The buzz of electricity circles a yellow bulb in Maine’s humid heat. June bugs bomb the porch light with spiny legs—date-colored and oversize.                               Spring peepers pin the night, pitch a universe in my mother’s kitchen, except I have not yet…

To Yusef Komunyakaa   When I rise from the bank the water’s slow as shadow in my steps, thick as blood. The whole river’s secretive, still, dark as roux cooled in the skillet, as rank, as sweet, ancient as catfish, ancienter. The moon’s sifted light clouds rumor to lilies or daffodils, an egret on the…

Thoughts have gone wolf again, hunting for reasons in the dark. Suppose we were never               supposed to fall into each other’s arms? Made a bone-boat tossed all our memories in—               watched it sail. There’s a chance I know nothing and I…

Pretend a boom box blasts over your shoulder. Raise your hands in the air. Twist them as if picking mangoes. Look to the right as if crossing streets. Look to the left, slowly as if balancing orange baskets. Bend as if picking cotton. Do the rump. Straighten up as if dropping firewood. Rake, do the…

watched a crew wipe the family name from the face of our supper club. The new owners slapped a cartoon moose on the sign out front. If I tell him I love him, either he is holding my little hand while we step across an icy parking lot toward a greasy burger joint or he…

Blackbird called Redwinged                                              and I both startle when I stand and turn. Bird expertly                        swerves, flies on; but I spend a few…

So thin, the life we had— sometimes I could see inside my stomach and inside my sister’s the attacks started we were sitting in the corner of the living room away from the chandelier, my mom didn’t want us to sit under it when we were under attack my sister and I her doll and…

This undistinguished        shingled        condominium is closer to Route Six than to the sea so that muffled sound we hear is cars, not waves. The occupants of the adjacent unit are often in the driveway keyboarding in cars. No one is keyboarding, of course, at dawn when I leave for the beach so I can beat…

At the funeral for the young man I’m trying to sing the complicated song And I’m running out of breath there are too many Changes in direction in this song— some parts Are just for the choir they sound great up above in their loft Then the men sing and that’s surprising— the women Are…