Poetry

As the floor tilts, the hanging lamp dangles at an odd slant toward the kitchen's star of-Bethlehem walls and I know the stillness, the belligerent pace, the public shadows on our lawn and the way she stood at the edge of the orchard, transparent in her nightdress as the bus crept up the drive. The…

the laurel bronzed the brittle reins the chariot frozen in air wir sind dabei—we were here who never were anywhere 28 years and now light as a girl on a horse riding the petrified spine of the city goodbye goddess goodbye Victory Berlin, Brandenburger Tor, December 1989

Childhood Garden of Eden: the backyard with the view of the textile factory— three poplars braiding roots, a few dusty lilacs. After school I liked to stand between the trees as in a great branched basket. A neighbor knocked a crow's nest out of the tallest poplar. The birds circled and screamed for hours, two…

A.      While we acknowledge the role of the footprint has been overestimated by naïve and zealous sleuths, we must note these creatures left no mark as they passed. Legend has it they lived on emotion and money unbecame them; what dwellings they may have inhabited belonged in all probability to the other segment of the…

In my long late night talks with the jailers I raised again the question of the inanimate object: Does it remain indifferent whether it's perceived or not? (I had in mind the one hidden and found posthumously While fumigating and sweeping the vacated cell.) “Like a wood-carved demon of some nightmarish species,” Said one. “In…

It's cool by the trees, by the old stone wall now pinned      by stakes and wire, under the song of the mockingbird flashing            its white badges at evening. Cool air sinks, and the warm I walked through, making my un-      intentioned way through two gates and down a long hill now withdraws to the…

I was wearing green. Nineteen. Flat cheap light illuminates a male, twenty-one. A female virgin. Him, not. 1963. Let the light recede. Forget dark in a red Triumph, street after midnight, a girl out past the rules. Or another story: the man who lived near the lake. Peter, the lifeguard. Moon over desert. Grand movement…

1985 Rain. Ten years since we have spoken. Since Ma's suicide, fifteen. Triage of families: who to attend to—the widowed, the childless, the orphaned? When you smashed the kitchen radio all the calm times you played piano went dead too, just another symptom, though you swept up before sending me to my room. On those…

The question he so casually raises, hand fisted on slim hip, is What endures? The small terra-cotta figure shows the rough brown beneath the smooth black in random places; a chip on his shoulder, a small bite taken from the stylish behind. But he endures, gracefully. More than that: mockingly. No one his age should…