Poetry

Poetry |

from Lointaines

“Storyville or Benin City / it could be that we don’t have to describe / but only to return fear / to the place where we found it …”

Poetry |

“Fire Ants” & “An Exultation of Spirit”

“I wish I could say that a surgeon’s knife / in the small of my back and the successful removal / of some extra bone, the liberation of a cornered nerve, / would be enough to jump start me back into the joy of living …”

Poetry |

“Why Sturgeon Leap”

“Could leaping be hard-wired into sturgeon / brains since the late Cretaceous / for no other reason than feeling good,  // the way cows face north or south when chewing / their cud, conforming to the earth’s magnetic pull …”

Poetry |

“Ghost” & “Cacerolazo, October 2019”

“Three million pans death-rattle this iron-celled era. // What is a revolution? // We run through the barricades of La Alameda as trash fires glow through tear gas clouds on each corner …”

Poetry |

“1985” and “Once in an Antique Shop”

“Say in a church basement / I worked the can opener around the huge tins / of government meat, while another woman / stirred it into something edible …”

Poetry |

“The Fall Flower Show at Phipps”

“See their elegant forms and the exquisite care needed to restrain their growth, / years of work to send one branch upward …”

Poetry |

“Illinois”

“The first time hatred handcuffed me was at the corner / between Commercial Avenue and Third / where it slammed me on the hood of a patrol car.”

Poetry |

“Airshow”

“A sleek fighter climbs and dives / in mock attacks, slamming the awestruck / crowd with the sledgehammer / of its booming metallic roar.”

Poetry |

“August, Old Brickyard, Chilmark”

“Mother/daughter, / we stage a scenic selfie –– masked // faces foreground, backdrop / chimney of the brick factory ruin …”

Poetry |

“The Supermarket”

“When I read the cashier’s name tag — Penelope — / I think: she must be so lonely. She scans my almond butter, /  and I imagine her response: I’m not your cliché.

Poetry |

“Domesticated”

“I decide that the Hungarian language, obscure as it is, resembling almost nothing else. derives from the movement of Mongolians on ponies.”