Poetry

In the tradition of aunts and nieceswe were traveling on the continent,and, as in the tradition, she had no child;we slept in one room, in one bed. What of men? I would sit in the hotel windowin Paris, looking at the people on the street below—they held no interest. I had graduated high school.I was…

By then, simple questionshad grown blades: you’re not even going to shave came to mean,I don’t like the way you look, or that’s how I came to hear it.On certain days she’d say, do you love me today? and I would say, even more than yesterday,and she’d say, that’s impossible! and I’d say, it’s true,…

I liked the joyful sound of the piano coming from the open door where a few departing partygoers giggled, arms linked. I went in. But despite the pianist’s spirit and those lively partygoers, this party was on its last legs. A brown-haired woman with a brass hoop around her neck and an empty martini glass…

after Peter Harris A Japanese shrine is lit by ten thousand candles.One by one, jungle crows carry the candles away to the fields. The flight does not extinguishthe flame—the wick remains hot. Then, the crows bury their new light under dry leaves, saving the tallowin the wax for another day. They’ll eat later. In the…

is a bone you dig out of your bodywith another bone because how else can I describethe kind of time it takesforgiveness to thicken inside a body which is divided into varioushalf-heartedly warring nations a dry forest waitingfor the sky to blush a parking garageringed with shopping carts this carpet of fire ants floatingover the…

“They know locks are important,” the nurse says when she sees me watching a man, younger than my father, twist the switch of a deadbolt nailed to the wall in the dayroom—one of many locks nailed to the wall. Puzzles that can never be solved. Total fake-outs. A tumbler lock, a sliding door latch, an…

I’m surprised how long it takesher heart to stop. Strong old girl. Dr. Murrellkeeps the stethoscope pressed to her ribs.I lean down in front of her unblinking eyes. “You’re a good dog, Abby,” I assure her.Deb, Denny, and Dr. Murrell agree. “You area good dog, Abby.” A beat or two…he putsthe stethoscope away. Faint gray…

She held my dog’s paw like a gentle jewel.Wind blew her hair into a moonlit arc of ocean.I sat on the tub while she shaved her legs.We shrugged in the downpour. Playground wings and swings, unchained laughter.The pop of her lips released the bottle and her grin.Naked on the porch.Abandoning the stalled car forever. Pancakes,…

Soldiers gnawedthe ends of twigs to make brushes. What they sketchedwould be used to identify themwhen they were returnedto their families for ancestor worship. Gun oilas paint. The war-dead accruedon their papers. Roofs broken in with jacketed lead and herbicides, an expanseof fire. It was the endof an afternoon in 1970. The sun wrappedthe big…