poetry

  after Eric Baus I was saying lily pads float without roots and my son notes I’m explaining things I don’t know he laughs and I sense a tug like dank morning mist diaphanous heat glimmering as it wanes the … Read More

  the most popular of miniature daffodils   I’ve waited— seen others brighten   neighbor’s yards—south-facing beds,   low elevation—who knows what makes some hardier   early on. There’s nothing I want more   than a conversation with you.   … Read More

  somedays poets read about birds while I cut out a sewing pattern the fabric should be washed before it is cut poets say thank you thank you thank you while I reread the instructions not sure how to read … Read More

  Standing on the platform in Albury, thinking about dead carnations and chipped porcelain, thinking about gelid lakes and the ten years between us, diametrical distance, my mother lamenting her prodigal daughter’s accent on the phone, thinking about telephone lines … Read More

  after “Silently and Very Fast” by Catherynne M. Valente   I was a house once      very large       empty rooms aching like teeth I knew what a house knows   of family genes in vast permutation      what it knows of … Read More

  Light dissolves on the outskirts of town where the trees are mostly their arms, devoid of reason in a strange dream. What hides in itself in the desert? I know that I will soon. Jackrabbits freeze on the grey … Read More

  There is a clay house strange in a desert but no windows, no doors, people are gone no sound except bullets cracking past my ear, and then I wake up. Did I wake up? Yes! I woke to a … Read More

  the neighbors build on the brink of forest, in a few months, the house could be done or gone. watch from the field as they pour foundation concrete, then water the burn of the east garden.   between us, … Read More

  after Eric Baus   I was saying lily pads float without roots   and my son notes  I’m explaining things I don’t know  he laughs and I sense ++++a tug              like dank morning … Read More

  Having settled I had to be down with the man who taught me   to understand the geologic scale of things. The man   who made me— see that? I had known bereavement   already the slow growing vine … Read More

  dilapidation on the lawn we watch without sorrow; a chair, perhaps is the irretrievable earth   appraising, I think, this came from my father’s country where bricks are the color of melancholy, but of course it’s much older   … Read More

  Your house is a room that follows the sun, changes constantly like light-sensitive glasses. On the hottest days, the carpet retreats and a low vinyl tide creeps in. You jump its little waves. You and the dog roll on … Read More