Featured Poetry

The Chorus

The Chorus

That green expanse
Is swaying long and lush beside the creek,
And there his ball’s forgotten as the child,
Unable not to shriek,
Chases the phantoms of the wind that dance
Among the stems and seedheads and runs wild.
And wind-shaped figures seem to turn
Among those willow shadows with concern.

Lining Up for the Tower of Terror

Lining Up for the Tower of Terror

     

(Disneyworld, 2007)

Grouped by long queues in a windowless basement,
Standing on slab ramps of rigorous, mellow
Gray, between rails sprayed industrial yellow,
Eager and damp as sardines, wait the damned.

because the cut your presence

because the cut your presence

The Murderess

The Murderess

Prima Donna

Prima Donna

All He Whispered: 1981

All He Whispered: 1981

In high school, everybody beat him up.
Not just the thugs, whose ire he seemed to court,
But even those who weren’t the fighting sort.
Like tiny Pete Maloney, nicknamed Pup,

Who broke his nose. Or shy, sweet Wanda Speers,
Who burst from her chair one morning in Home Ec,
Beat him down to the floor, then kicked his neck.
Neither told what he’d whispered in their ears.

Shades of Tucson: 2005

Shades of Tucson: 2005

I have two trees in my front yard. Jesús,
my next-door neighbor, told me yesterday
I ought to cut the chinaberry down:
non-native, he said. The other, a eucalyptus,

was planted fifty years ago by James,
who grew up in this house, though he now lives
across the street, next door to Mrs. Chávez,
whose husband (James once told me) tried to drive

Lauds

Lauds

                       My eyes open to a cry,
then flinch back shut. O Lord make haste to help me.
          Why can’t he wake up like the saints,

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