Poetry

Half Asleep

I dreamt of you not So long ago, betrayed by My own subconscious. I read somewhere that Dreams are other people’s thoughts. Put me from your mind. Research suggests it’s My own hopes and memories. I thought I’d moved on. I don’t want you now. I’d much prefer my future. How do I let go?… Read More Half Asleep

Orchid Resurrected

Do you remember that book on Georgia O’Keeffe? The one that sat on top of the table in the little cabin tucked away, christened with lake spray and musty wood. You said                                                         “I really want to kiss you right now,” a gust of wind pushed through your chest that made the white curtains heave. You… Read More Orchid Resurrected

A good man gardens

mother says, stabbing starry holes opposite the sky. I’ve crushed her lavender spray, poured dirt before the body has been lain. Pretend it’s potpourri, I offer instead of an apology, grated flower flesh, salts for the fainted soul, if nothing else. She is mother – Atlas – at fifteen: what is family but the world?… Read More A good man gardens

Driving Home

The high school runs parallel to the road like the police station, Which runs parallel to where your cousin ended up after he was accused of manslaughter. On curve of the road after that prison, you almost hit a motorcyclist (whose rims and glasses and helmet gleamed like your father’s). Heading to the adobe home… Read More Driving Home

Birdcage

We watch our grandmother unfurl from the bed: a fragile bird with heavy wings. Summer seeps through the open window of the apartment, a birdcage, her home for fifty years. A dull grey building with steps too foreboding and an elevator pine paneled like a coffin. Pogácsa from the subway station popped into our mouths… Read More Birdcage

Elegy for My Grandfather’s House in Cabin John, Maryland

Take care. Remember what you were and who You held inside your walls. The gentle breath Of smoke released from dark, cast iron stoves, And patinated wooden floors, impressed By years of footsteps—these I will recall. Or how the stones and twisted branches that We found stood proud upon the porch, the way The center… Read More Elegy for My Grandfather’s House in Cabin John, Maryland

Summer Melancholy

It was floating in space with no confines, choking on last moments that gouge eyes out of skulls and leave a blood stain on the Great Unknown. And it was flicking the switch that makes everything from the tacky red knobs to the cherry wood cabinets yellow. So yellow that the room becomes a rotten… Read More Summer Melancholy

Prayer Thoughts

gods feel real   as the dead, as dreams and memories (half-faded, buried in damp earth and clean wood) all which cannot be touched   is equal under the harsh light of memory (flickers and buzzes like cheap fluorescents) my past is as strong as I am   a thought worries away at me with dirty fingernails some… Read More Prayer Thoughts

On Recitation

(call the crowd/class/love interest/obliging parents/pet/wall to attention) (inhale) (3.67 second pause, for effect) (in the manner of a washed-up actor teaching A Midsummer Night’s Dream to 9th graders who have previously been vaping in the hall): The author (.91 second pause) (as if expecting the court scribe to lunge for a scroll and quill to… Read More On Recitation

This One’s Me

Redraw my body in hexagons; maybe I’ll feel more at home. We’ll try this again. I’m the face in every mirror, the man dancing on the tightrope. (I wanted to be the man this time) Rearrange. I’m the woman on pins and needles, flying just out of reach. You are painting the curves of my… Read More This One’s Me

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