I wonder who lives in the house
With the bright red chimney, someone must
For on cold winter mornings
Smoke bellows from the stack
And the smell of freshly baked bread
Stops me in the thaw and snap
So, I linger for a moment
And stare at this dreamy abode
Lit by the soft edges of snow clouds
And the sun a pale embroidered gold
‘All is well with the world’ then I say to myself
All is well in the house with the red chimney
Do not excite about the newfangled spangles of your daughter without recalling your participation in the decimation of ours. You walked many paces ahead of my panicky lungs zestful in glory that you could outpace me away from your cells multiplying into something ours for a short verse.
Read more "Love Poem to My Ex-Husband Who is About to Become a Father"Blast! over the last ridge before pasture. The great white sycamore shatters the oriole’s net-nest. An autumn olive catches the fledgling, embraces its beating heart. Singed by relentless summer, hills west waver/duck at the gale.
Read more "The Furies"This rain pounds the arch hall with a glass roof, vexations of puddles over and above the axles, no time to witness how slowly the tulip emerges in curled lips like cups. Chills of wet hair.
Read more "For the Young Who Are Afraid"Fixed and firm you pull out frames slice wax caps and dip into combs of liquid gold. You tug red cashmere over platinum waves then smooth a tight, white skirt.
Read more "For Sylvia"Life, the iredeemer. No wonder there’s a God, not unlike there’s hate and always a dollar in St. Anthony’s change for a cigarette from the Pakistani or Indian bodega kept up by a family who kneels just the same to different names, and praises the canonized coin in their jars writ with wishes that God won’t stop depositing dimes or spare quarters for some beatific order: smoke, family, like love. What cans to be had.
Read more "Redemption"You see power lines and I see twilight But you follow me everywhere, even when I sail across seas, live in other countries, speak foreign languages. Especially when I speak foreign languages. They remind me of your many tongues, fingers in my mouth, body like a map revealing unknowns that make me all at once prepared and still afraid.
Read more "This Wasn’t Supposed to Be About You"Near the pressed powder next to the mascara the one packaged in pink she looks for Raspberry Rush. The cylinder brightens by the liner becomes beacon beside the blush where the concealer hides as the tweezers glisten atop 20x mirror. She removes the cap turns the case— ah, the scent of fruit and flower lanolin aluminum lake.
Read more "She Applies Imagination in Times of Uncertainty"Hand held eyes head unencumbered telepathic, no need for speech hovering instead of walking how many babies? How many pets? photosynthetic? Photovoltaic?
Read more "Upgrade"Coffee Unctuous First sip, last drip, scrumptious No drink can comfort, the parched dry mouth Recover from mornings, the sentient self Quite like the demon bean Devilishly moreish, whoreish even as I sip her wares With cinnamon toast for company Not love, nor utopia compares Arabica, I shout, the cavernous yawn expectant Smells the roast, hears the china cup And like magic the corpse is resurrectant Then with a thank you God and a splash of cream I do baptize the demon bean
Read more "The Demon Bean"
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