Poetry

Saint Bruce

Saint Bruce

             As Stephen who looked to heaven and prayed
             into thy mercy all innocents accept,
             and as James, the Reconciler,

 

When I Least Expect It

When I Least Expect It

In the seats around a classroom
or a supermarket line,
when I’m caught between two men,
I feel the space between my legs
and feel it burn between my thighs,
feel it burn like stocking chafe,
like bike-wreck knees, like Clorox burn.

Weeding a Dog's Grave

Weeding a Dog’s Grave

A Warning Sign

A Warning Sign

Just wait a second, I’ll go put him down.
She could have been referring to a child
On his feet in the crib, wailing the darkness wild,
When she broke off a kiss to face the sound.

A screen door sighed and shut. The barking stopped.
He laid a while, hands behind his head,
Before his ears flicked back. Sprung off the bed
He panicked down the stairs in three long skips.

Balloons

Balloons

Barefoot the children are running, their fists in the air.
They laugh a ticklish laughter, not the mind’s.
The strings they clutch are as thin as the air at this altitude.
What are they running from? Ask a forget-me-not.
Sunflowers read their passage from west to east.
The flowers are foreground: beyond them, the precipice.
A broom of a wind swishes across a footprint.
That little piggy was hearing, that little piggy was vision....

The Exiles

The Exiles

It sprouts out of him all trunk and no branch.
He’s soil for this tree, his farmer’s tan
The shade of soil turned. No leaf, no fruit,
No shade: Blood at the pith and blood at root.

She lowers as a fog. He makes no fuss.
What once was ichor comes out sticky pus.
Follicles bud and itch—skin irritation
From the fig leaves, probably. Constellations

Adopting Heroic Dreams

Adopting Heroic Dreams

In asbestos gloves and oxygen tank,
I snatched a girl from a smoldering cot
last night, lay her on my shoulder, and thanked
her for coming. “You’ve been through a lot,”
I said. “I can’t wait for you to meet her.
She’s been going nuts to have a sister.”

Dark Gardens

Dark Gardens

For V.W.

For V.W.

Birds
speak
Greek
words,
woe
sings
things
low.
Love
ends.
A dove
descends.

Water
caught her.

Philosopher's Wool

Philosopher's Wool

Syndicate content