I like to think
that my conception
brought her pleasure—
this trinket-box body
and blond doll’s head.
I like to think
Looking for myself again
and also trying to lose her
when gray began ungathering toward morning
I anchored my body to beach beside the river.
In the river, the water moves
swiftly over moss-covered stones.
On the banks, rhododendrons and magnolias,
their branches dragging in the current.
I could be a silver butterfly clip in
an airplane passenger’s auburn hair.
Or I could be red-tinted glasses in
a taxi rider’s tan satchel.
I could hold the hand of the man at
the train station, clutch his
callouses like a lover, like a glove.
At the bottom of the drawer lies
a gleaming woman around twenty
smiling with widely parted rosy
lips around straight white teeth.
Her chestnut hair in long waves
frames the lean bones of her face.
The face flushed, the eyes sapphire.
There is a pleasure
in lifting the lid and stirring
ham & split-pea soup
my wife has left simmering.
It draws me out of myself
to set whatever I’m doing
let each day decide what’s best for a broken beast
like me, like anyone shackled to one existential crisis
or another. why choose breath when the murderer
wraps his meaty garrote around your throat?Continue reading… "“When Did You Decide Not to Give Up?”"
Neurda called watermelon the green whale of summer.
Sprinkled with salt, I call it the holy grail of summer.
Driving the farm-to-market road to the cancer clinic
for your last visit, let us praise each hay bale of summer.
Like a thatched cottage
on a windswept isle
this edifice too, will settle,
sink slowly, thistle-deep
The machine shut down after clicks and pops– the screen
flickered bright then dimmed and faded low into near-
zero invisibility. You said our love had become that,
crying into the dark on my chest. I couldn’t feel the tears,