Poetry

Poetry |

“After Reading Bashō, I Remember the Rain”

“I found a quail’s nest under sage plants near the house /  woven, I think, while we were traveling,  / & the yard seemed abandoned. // The hen burst out under a torrent of hose-water / I unknowingly sprayed into the leaves.”

Poetry |

“Reading Nadezhda Mandelstam in Virgin Islands National Park”

“Every trinket and provision and provocation arrives / By ships riding over sunken ships few remember. / The sea turtles surface for air only when it is safe. / Time is boats rocking their length against waves.”

Poetry |

“Returning” & “Shimmer”

“… we pass what once was America’s tallest / radio tower, flickering red now / to tell the planes there’s something here / sending sound out into the night.”

Poetry |

“January 29”

“He’s stage four, small cell lung. He shrugs. / A guy he knows feeds his flock, / but he doesn’t sit with them. He doesn’t know their names.”

Poetry |

“Messages”

“The porch light shining on my bedroom ceiling / means my son isn’t home yet and the clock / glows an hour I used to rock him in my arms / with the stealth of a woven web.”

Poetry |

“My Stone” & “Falling With the Snow”

“It’s not showy / like turquoise / or rose quartz / and will never / find a home / in a bolo tie / or a belt buckle.”

Poetry |

“Field Notes: Worcester County, October”

“What seeds itself without my intervention: goldenrod, wood asters, Deptford pinks revealed when storms blow dead leaves west.”

Poetry |

“Origin Story,” “Eve” & “To life”

“maybe that’s why // you bloomed in all the wrong ways. you know / the kind of girl you were, the crow growls. // the kind to swallow a rotten apple whole.”

Poetry |

“Sunk Cost Fallacy” & “Winter the Rain”

“… you suffer without me, / who, sleeveless in the heat / of July’s last morning, / will be squeezing plums / in produce when your eldest / calls to say, “Dad’s / taking his last breath.”

Poetry |

“Jericho, Oxford” & “Ektopia”

“… we settled in the end for the pure girl face / that I turned to consider the street / down which the boy and the men had gone / in search of bookshops and better drugs.”

Poetry |

“Have You Been Watching the News?”

“Every time I look at the dog, I remember she is going to die. / Sometimes I cry while picking her shit up from the yard with a plastic claw. / Next week she will turn one.”