Poetry

Poetry |

“Slow Seed”

“Listen to a nurse tell how she holds a phone for hours / as dying patients FaceTime family. / Twenty in four days. / Tell me how she does this.”

Poetry |

“Twelve,” “Conduit” and “Permit me to write my own ending”

“Someone was in the house, in my room I tell the police. The summer / I turn 12, standing in the kitchen Karate Kid cocky. Fingers wild // with popsicle juice & the murder of flying ants, their bodies burst cranberry / on the wood parquet …”

Poetry |

“Or What Else Could We Do But Raise Our Hands?”

“… when silt, dust, / shards, erase boundaries, words / break down, and scattered letters / run wild in search of meaning // we raise our hands …”

Poetry |

“February in Deep Melancholy” and “Morning”

“She’s calling from a great distance. / The bulbs are coming back! The ones we ripped out! / They’re coming back! She’s moving around, / speaking quickly between things.”

Poetry |

“Having You”

“… partly because of your hanging back on your heels to my pushing / ahead on my toes, yes, / partly because of that I am free to push ahead …”

Poetry |

“Letter to Time,” “That Kiss” and “All Told”

“Let me say it again: / do not come back and hang out in my garden. / You’ll frighten the children / and the leaves will fall – I’ve seen it happen.”

Poetry |

“Three weeks” and “Retail requiem”

“May we guard against those forces / shuttled through their online replacements, / may we one day understand the psychosis / that built then eroded what it built, that was us”

Poetry |

“Nocturne with Shaved Head”

“I learned tonight you shouldn’t / dig a grave on a Monday unless you want to dig another one / within the year”

Poetry |

“Today Is the Feast Day”

“Today is the feast day / Of moving to the mountain / And a house in the clouds / Away from the city and people there feeling / Unsettled as clouds”

Poetry |

“Wild Mother Apples of Tian Shan”

“Nikolai Vavilov’s family knew the gaunt aunt / of famine. He grew consumed with seeds / and craving, peeled away / in delicate curls their genetic passions … “

Poetry |

“Farmers” and “The Long Goodbye”

“Each mass I’d / Stare at the wall / Where the farmers // Stood and smoked, / Near the door, / Before the fields.”

Poetry |

“Nest”

“I shouldn’t have gotten so close, my breath frosting the glass, // when I’m certain I surprised it, two heads perked up, / and after a moment, flew.”