Poetry

  • Nocturne for the Treaty Signing

    Jerusalem, September 1993 for Raphi Amram How long my hands have been well-worn thoughts of an automatic rifle. Ajar, my wrought-iron gate. A mulberry tree, in leaf, is shadowing the courtyard tiles; the back of my hand pouring wine’s caught in a dark pattern. The walled Old City stares across the valley, all luminous stone…

  • What You Have

    A crucifix on a bare wall. Crocheted cincture with a lover’s knot tied at each end, which swing as you walk (also known as “nun’s balls”). The veil, with or without wimple. Crepe-soled, lace-up oxfords, black, or sandals, preferably Dr. Scholl’s. A watch, plain, and your pectoral cross on a black string— small enamel for…

  • Red Under the Skin

    Seeing is forgetting the name of the thing one sees. —Paul Valéry   The hatred goes back for centuries, everyone says,        a tradition as old                     as making wine, weaving rugs, playing flutes.          My father remarks              he would have expected it from the Croats                     who colluded with Hitler,        but…

  • Habit

    It descends with the Holy Spirit over your face, breasts, legs, draping the flesh in modesty, a falling curtain of grace, and you: an empty dress-shape with a scapular, a cincture, and a veil, receptacle of God’s will.             Unless, of course, your body is a swamp of desire, your heart a simmering kettle, its…

  • The Quiet Americans

    for To Nhuan Vy We hold our glasses out, then drink. Two years since the American soldier returned, told how he’d turned his Claymores facing up that night: so the warning, “This side to the enemy,” pointed to the sky. His one small act of protest in the war. He never knew at midnight, a…

  • Ohio

    We were excited at the motel when the B.B. King tour bus pulled in but then my mother said “Where did all these colored come from?” She’s eighty-five. That’s how it is in Ohio. No it’s not, that’s how it is in us, that’s why thirty-five years ago in my first year at Cornell we…

  • On Going In

    O Lord my God, in thee do I put my trust. Save me from them that pursue me and deliver me, Lest they tear my soul like a lion. i. The torment of voices: When are you going to get . . . When are you going to be . . . Who will you…