X-Factors: De Chirico

poetry
  1. The Melancholy of Departure The removal began precisely as its planners had decided months earlier with names and ages and dispositions: dead, the dispositions always showed those to…

Crossing

poetry
  The train seems heavier on the tracks tonight although the news is now old news—   the unexpected derision at the local hangout, the two girls who were drinking…

The Tennis Ball

poetry
  When I return to the dog, the first thing I see is the teeth. And then the dog disappears. But the teeth remain. Bared. Bereft of dog. The bared…

At the Orchard

poetry
  We sit beneath a giant maple watching pirouettes of yellow gust upwards, each leaf an illumined skin stretched across a pliable spine. My son spins an apple between his…

Lessons of Dark and Light

poetry
  Completely blind since  birth, Laura would stare for minutes into a close-held flashlight beam, press the heels of her thumbs into her eyes so she could ‘see’ the eruption…

On Earth

poetry
  At the bus stop under the horse chestnut, we tally the length of Boyhood against the babysitter's plans for later and, waiting, see the leaves have started to wilt,…

The 58th Street Library

poetry
  The first block stretched on with big doors and sometimes a doorman standing in front who smiled or touched his hand to his hat and I hurried past to…

In the Small Rotary

poetry
  where Route 100 meets School Street, two cows graze. I've heard Vermonters lend their cows to neighbors—and to the city, it seems—free food for cows, free mowing for the…