after Edouard Manet A young woman with a cigarette—perhaps a prostitute! Or maybe she’s a “shopgirl hoping for company,” but either way, she’s not an upper-class lady, sitting…
It’s what we don’t say that holds us together. In the late afternoon, walking along the Danube we talk about the hills and the color of the water, the…
In the living room my mother can’t sleep. Past midnight, reading a magazine, she eats her way to the bottom of the plate. A swirl of lithium carbonate has…
…the sea has nothing to give but a well excavated grave. —Marianne Moore What you first see are the chimney stacks, the moss-covered roofs and then the crosses…
Two blackbirds cross the motorway to the east. Gorse like saffron, patching up the side of the hill. Darkest green clusters are of heather, sedge. Brown stains where the…
I walked out beyond the asphalt and the riprap fill behind the beige and gray machine shops, past the brook muscling through growth rife from golf-course effluent and on…
Long ago—when measured by a single life— On a typewriter, and owing to the kindness of your Nature, you wrote a letter (from your Brookline Garret’s desk) that traveled,…