Poetry

The speaker is the young black man Susan Smith claimed kidnapped her children.     Susan Smith has invented me because Nobody else in town will do what She needs me to do. I mean: jump in an idling car And drive off with two sad and Frightened kids in the back. Like a bad…

In Mexico we danced on the edge where the saguaro cacti stood up like billboards of cactus in the Persian blue twilight     of Tucson— ah, the desert in bloom lizards with space-gear helmets on our sill and we in our deck chairs taking the winter sun! Nothing to do but listen to wind in…

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…

The speaker is the young black man Susan Smith claimed kidnapped her children.     Who are you, mister? One of the boys asks From the eternal back seat, And here is the one good thing: If I am alive, then so, briefly are they, Two boys returned, three and one, Quiet and scared, bunched…

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…

When my grandfather turned ninety we had a party in a restaurant in Harlem called Copeland’s. Harlem restaurants are always dim to dark and this was no exception. Daddy would have gone downtown but Baba, as we called him, wanted to stay in the neighborhood, and this place was “swanky.” We picked him up in…

The speaker is the young black man Susan Smith claimed kidnapped her children.     A few nights ago A man swears he saw me pump gas With the children At a convenience store Like a punchline you get the next day, Or a kiss in a dream that returns while You’re in the middle…

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…

Tenderly she would take them down and fold the arms in and fold again where my back should go until she had made a small tight square of my chest, a knot of socks where my feet blossomed into toes, a stack of denim from the waist down, my panties strictly packed into the size…