Rivers

poetry
  The Delaware’s a greenish black river here, flanked by other, slower rivers—fields of snow, rows of leafless sycamores larger than God, two shoulderless snaking roads. I’m in the truck…

Danaë’s Lament

poetry
              After Simonides, frag. 543   Who locked us, child, inside this cunning chest, left to the stirring sea, the night-lit deep? Should I…

Hospital Song

poetry
  The nurses pass like wisps of blue cloth brandishing syringes of colorful liquids. They say this is for pain or this is for vermillion or this is for dragon.…

Easter in the Oven

poetry
              —after Kiki Dimoula   The goat was bleating so much its voice had grown hoarse. Furious, I opened the oven door: “Knock it…

The Cherries of Kenwood

poetry
  Gaze down these pink tunnels into deeper pink. The walls are blossoms fashioned of smaller blossoms attached to raised arms that nuzzle other arms. It’s like watching a parade…

The Ice Pond

poetry
  Still alive, the pond freezes and melts, can’t decide.   It remembers the stream that fills it underground.    Caught in a circle of hewn stone, it shivers.  …

Soldier’s Wife

poetry
             Village of Chokan, 8th Century A.D.   If he returns after drinking his black wine I-don’t-know-where. . . . His armor, piled against the…

An Egret

poetry
  empty page of a day and I’m fixed as a prisoner in haunted city walls where the bartender keeps book a flock of blue sails huddle together against the…

Miscarriage, 1943 (Limbo)

poetry
  Pale blue arms folded like a bow across her heart, you were born into silence, the umbilical frayed like your loose connection to life. The priest and his water…

Midnight

poetry
  Measuring out two fingers, I pour it into a heavy glass, weight all in the base. The murmur of it shining —I sip down. Late, I’ve looked out many…

Reading Water

poetry
  Easier than writing in air, but not impossible. A woman at the Chinese temple grieved for her lost son. She wrote the story on the landing of a wide…

Mary, Mary

poetry
  And this is where they found him in the snow. At first we thought a hunter’s shot a deer. My husband’s gun. My garden does not grow. A prescient…