The Doorway Although that extra door had long ago vanished into a wall when carpenters remodeled the kitchen for more counter space, I could still see through it between the balusters when I climbed the stairs. See my mother hold
What if Cat Stevens was a dog person? Someone offered me an olive branch when all I really wanted was an olive for my dry martini. I stared out of my balcony with said drink in hand and saw a
(excerpt from “Stones”) Back then, everything was only starting, and nights were so short that dreams didn’t have time to find a way to us. Instead, they hung in the air like sun dust and disturbed our sleep.
after BPK It wasn’t a goat’s head swaying in the tree. It was a ferret we sacrificed in the microwave. And we weren’t us yet just the preteen versions of who we would become— though wasn’t that us already?—the girls
The Departure Farewell my pond and all my many doves Upon their tower and who kindly donned Their silky plumage and its swollen loves Farewell pond. Farewell my home and all its gables blue So many friends in
come from common spaces to move around the fountains and the flowers of Hyde Park. They appear early, soundless, as if shod in slippers of sleepwalkers. They embark then pause, each breath the birth of a small god. Thoughts enter
Words are loyal. Whatever they name they take the side of. As the word courage will afterward grip just as well the frightened girl soldier who stands on one side of a street, the frightened boy soldier who stands on
Skirting the coast desperate for fresh food cutter nosing in for soundings miles offshore they anchor overnight wake in thick fog-bank that abruptly lifts: surrounded: 300 canoes: a tremendous din of wild yells (the first Europeans they had ever seen)
close to a Zen scholar, haven’t learned to manage my blood pressure as billionaires plunder the planet selling-off our remaining resources and everything heads to hell in a hand basket. No matter if I poke my walking stick in the
Blind The way, as I wake, some shimmery dream rushes toward the sun’s obliterating flame, the day, too—this lit second, and this, the crux of it, a wild weeping at its heart—feels gone already as I enter it. Blind ancient
Everything and everybody are always doing something. At no time on earth are all human beings still. Or never does the high-quality packaging around your prescription Stop deteriorating to unusual twists, it’s just slow. I suppose the rose bush is
None of my friends called their grandmother Nana. Only I did. And mine wanted to be called Nana probably for the same reason years before she insisted that her only child, my mother, even as a baby, call her Lee.
Morning, Redux Another morning in the obscure, light spackling the clouds rolling in, running before some storm. The sky flattened like an unstamped envelope. The local predators must have been sleeping in. It was early November, songbirds off on
from Devil Mutant Child a tale of an evolution of emotional intimacy for Florida Missouri Brasier 2. Exactly the hair I wanted, I am not complaining. Were I to choose what sprouts from my head, this hair is exactly