Browsing Category Poetry
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Poetry 0
The Stoplight at the Corner Where Somebody Had to Die
They won’t put a stoplight on that corner till somebody dies, my father would say. Somebody has to die. And my mother would always repeat: Somebody has to ...
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Culture 0
Types of Animals
after Borges some by branching by bivalve by colony by loping by leaping some disguised in waiting in watching by blending in motion some in color in welcome ...
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Film 0
Agnes Varda, Bill Viola: Two Poems
Agnes Varda: The Ardent Background Always in the background of her films, landscape as seeing at times through a window. framed by a curtain held back by ...
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In Sickness and In Health 0
Capacitance
Coronary sinus that fills and releases. Cascading breath falls to basin. Small branches stretched exhaling temperamental at best. Thumbprints on frosted glass. Windows outlooking lots. Full of forgotten ...
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In Sickness and In Health 0
Here’s How It Will Go
The chest cage and diaphragm, with expansive spirit, cooperate one last time, the discomfort at the depth of the intake a reason to pause, with a sense of ...
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In Sickness and In Health 0
Stay Close to the Willows
Is a country way of sayin’ remain near home, don’t venture far, keep nearby. Once you embody shadow under the pine’s umbrella and grace the riverbank, turn ...
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In Sickness and In Health 0
Farmer’s Market in Pandemic
The Saturday rite is now a drive-by: we’re all laid back in our masks awaiting our turn. The line stretches far down the street; no one expects to ...
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In Sickness and In Health 0
Harbinger
On my walk I notice a hint of yellow on the arched branches of forsythia that grow over an old rock wall— the stones handpicked for fit not ...
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In Sickness and In Health 0
Ventilator Moon
A streamlet of breath trickles into shuddering pink caves. Adjust the settings: percent oxygen, breaths per minute, tidal volume. Perhaps tidal volume charts the moon’s pull in anxious ...
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Poetry 0
the creative gene
my mother says she has started to see things at the edge of her vision: mice, flies, general disturbers of her immaculate and germ-free peace. she has always ...
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Poetry 0
Lady Driver
The woman behind me is talking to no one I can see. A juggler without apples or oranges she gestures wildly, and at the light I can tell ...
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