Poem with a Place in It
The rooms are all primary colornow. Slow edges. Don’t come back again, rough little boots—sliding, gliding,hauling the ground. Don’trummage through the noonblue, as if a place could bloomperennially and blood…
My Parents’ Bathroom Door
A few monsoons ago, the bathroom door in my parents’ housegrew too big for its birches!Grew stubborn as ego, noisy as dissent,refusing to close all the way ever again.When asked…
Summer Night Call
Can you tell which of my eyes is glassand which isn'tThey blinded the batsto see if they'd find foodCut their stomachs with scalpels,found themfull of bugsDo you think I feel…
The Torn Key • On Weeping
The Torn Key: A Zuihitsu1. Driving all night through New York, Ohio, Indiana, on my way to Chicago to see some friends, I napped for a couple of hours at…
On the Aviary
You know nothingabout birds, how they pushtheir young into blue? When I was eight all I knewabout sex was from TV:that man dragged Bessdown into the woods,pushed her under him breathingYou…
Sleeping with Mermaids
a patois of kelp and cold water homing clickswithin the pod directing common purpose, swim bladders evolved from Jurassic kinin gyroscopic masteries of undertow and…
Inheritance • After the Fire • Field Notes, Early Spring
InheritanceMy mother peels apples over the sink,the skins spiraling into the compostlike the slow undoing of a dress.She asks me to set the table—I do, the same way I did…
