Poetry

  • Taking Down the Tree

    “Give me some light!” cries Hamlet's uncle midway through the murder of Gonzago. “Light! Light!” cry scattering courtesans. Here, as in Denmark, it's dark at four, and even the moon shines with half a heart. The ornaments go down into the box: the silver spaniel, My Darling on its collar, from mother's childhood in Illinois;…

  • The Plot Behind the Church

    Behind Church Ebenezer, moral box,      the steep red washed-out slope           grew scrubby pines. Some pennyroyal stank invitingly,      and vines transgressed the narrow tracks.           It wouldn't be right to go back now— was hardly right to go. . . .                 Ten-year-old Lou      squatting, hesitating, blocked by the grave           spirit of big Dr. Marr, the egg-on-legs…

  • Replay

    for Judy Couffer, 1955-1986 All afternoon I try not to watch the shuttle explode. On silent televisions throughout the hospital it lifts, a compact shining house astride a column of flame, curves, and blows apart, each piece leaving its trail of smoke as it dives for the sea. Again and again, the camera slides over…

  • September, Running With Birds

         High above, the flock hones itself to winter leanness, a plow. The point enters spilling its message.      When one in that two-strand of dark moves out I'm uneasy until      the others regroup, enfold it. There is no possibility of loss, the community      knows where it must go. Threaded, no one can fall as it heads…

  • Four Bones for Late March

    THE MARRIAGE BONE Once broken it tends to give under pressure. Though the knit serves, the gait will always be slightly protective, the limb will remember a fault line, the snap of its failing. It may bear your weight cunningly down the avenues of custom so that no one else notices. Left/right, left/right—walk you will…