Vigil in Threes

poetry
  Shallow, uneven, breath of an infant. The eyes are rock pools at low tide. Bones in the face are the face. No life, no expression. Not sleep, not illness,…

Resurrection of Mother and Child

poetry
  —after Johannes August Nahl’s “The Tomb of Madame Langhans” Bury a woman with her stillborn, the baby crawls out fingers first as the child of Maria Magdelena Langhans: Cherubic…

The Last Time I Cried

poetry
  Was when I was watching Misty Copeland dance “The Nutcracker” on mute, As I listened to “The Point of No Return” by Immortal Technique. It was simply beautiful. What…

Birds Again

poetry
  in memory of my student, 2000-2019   After last spring’s surprise grackle attack and the autumn squirrels’ burgling acrobatics   I almost didn’t fill the feeders this year.  …

Smokestack

poetry
  Sometimes I think the gods want something else. Enough with the libations, they might cry (if it weren’t for the prohibition on two-way speech). Don’t gore that ox on…

August

poetry
  He went to her on my birthday. Did he sneak through the blades of night Between our friends’ quarter moon tents To find her? Maybe they walked the aqueous…

July 11

poetry
  Find the balance at the oarlock says the coach not the usual way, not inside the boat. She wants us to push our consciousness three feet out, rest it…

The Favor

poetry
  Everything has been remodeled about motherhood. I should know, I am not one. A mother, that is. I have one, like we all do, or did, at the time…