How You Could Understand
If you wrote love letters to Mickey and Roger and Yogi,
If you waited all day for the call, just
to see if you made the team;
If your dad went to meetings about diamonds
Continue reading… "How You Could Understand"Category / Poetry
Bromide
The learned professor who doesn’t have a cat says to young writers: All you have to write about is your life. Rubbish!
Continue reading… "Bromide"Linger
is deceptively swanky, coffin-shaped happy hour menus and all. Our waiter is Kevin; well, Kevyn as he points out under curly hair pulled back in Levis hanging around his small frame.
He’s never had the duck wings. It was once a mortuary, I’m told,
Navigating the Cultural Practices of Suburban Wisconsinites
I learned to listen for the low squeak
of cheese curds between my teeth,
that noise matching the satisfaction
of new flavor and even newer family,
and you and I sat somewhere inside
Continue reading… "Navigating the Cultural Practices of Suburban Wisconsinites"Fishing
This is
a South Carolina
evening perfect as usual
but I haven’t caught anything
sunset blue sky cool breeze
and there’s a lot going on underwater
I’m told—
Nina
How she hated thunder. How she sat so still and quiet when the tornado came and then hated the thunder even more, and the hard rain, and even a winter wind. And how she walked in the mist and drank wild water from the gutter, refusing the silver water bowl, wanting to drink the sky.
Continue reading… "Nina"The Certainty of the Anna’s Hummingbird
Against the dirty clouds he’s no bigger than a word
and the waves of his tinny chirp drift
across the yard before falling noiselessly,
dusting the bare lilac tree without waking it.
He does not know, of course, he can drop dead
Mites
The oribatid soil mite is a one-man band,
A Rube Goldberg concoction.
Green, orange, purple, pink,
Grotesque with a bluster of tendrils. Devilishly
Clever as the curse or blessing
Nothing is Forgotten in Argentina
I ride the Buenos Aires colectivo,
behind a man my age, his brown
pants not quite a match for the coat,
a meticulous dark Windsor knot
slipped through a turned white collar,
The Afflicted
R was born a clock. In the beginning his parents had to wind him every two hours. Nobody slept. Then the treatments started to work. Within a month he was a calendar.
Continue reading… "The Afflicted"