We are in the floorboards here
I kneel down and lay my hands
On the old barnwood planks
Our first house—big step
Baby steps, first steps, dance steps
The big picture window where
I always beat the sunrise to the sofa
Pink tumbling over a sleeping mountain
A nursing baby at my breast
Another sun another son
We carved our traditions here
Read more "Before The Move"
The turkeys and the pumpkin pie
The Christmases the Fourths of July
Birthdays, holidays—all holy days
Our rituals rooted in the seasons
My husband watches Ozark on Netflix.
I walk away to my laptop, tell him,
I don’t like any of the characters
and I don’t like the plot.
He can see how that could be true,
but he watches anyway.
The show’s been nominated.
Conventional COVID-19 wisdom says
the smart thing to do is stay home and avoid people.
We wait for a cure as hours of scripted
Read more "Mutated World Sequence"
dramas flicker before our eyes.
I saw you pluck a piece of sapling from the hills
A present, I don’t know,
A sun-scorched story,
A massive ambience of the liquid time.
But the manner you beheld it
Read more "Regeneration"
Like you could see through its bare bones,
If you lick up the juice, now and then.
This morning I read about sex toys
a design student was creating for old people
(defined as those over fifty),
a market he felt was overlooked.
One concept was a steel ear trumpet
to listen to a lover’s heart.
You have been gone for many years
Read more "Thrum"
but I still feel the warmth of your soft sternum
pressed against my cheek, still hear
your drumbeat vibrating through my bones
hanging down the length
of a frosted chain
outside a snow-swept market
curl with cozy ease
into each other,
as if still
on a tree somewhere tropical,
Read more "Banana Chain"
dawning from their green
It’s something to look forward to,
of the talking heads
on the evening news,
her portal to the world.
When Dad was still here,
they’d watch together, and in twenty minutes
their own heads
would drop to their chests.
Now she nods off alone
Read more "Talking Heads"
under waves of silver hair,
the ocean at dawn
I remember the day you broke from me
A blue and viscous blood-soaked pearl
And though I’d grown you in myself
An alien from a secret world
The cord was thick and rough and red
A rhubarb stalk tying me to you
You wailed I cried they held you up
My universe bound by one sinew
Your father sawed the surgeon sliced
Read more "Graduation Day"
Surprisingly it didn’t hurt
I felt the pressure of my love
Shift from my belly to my heart
the settling of ashes.
the loss between
house and souls
windows left open
front door half open
a pink ribbon
on the floor
Read more "Aftermath"
paint the yard,
chairs and toys
like still life
Rage is so respectable. Her top hat’s
made of smoking coals. She strides
the streets and kicks small sheep.
She knits up snarls on telephone poles.
She breathes in daisies, snorts
out ash. Her house is made of corners,
boned with whale. She turns on you
so quickly that she tops the sport Whiplash.
She combs her hair with matches
Read more "Rage is so Respectable"
so the sparks light funeral pyres. Her invitation list
is stuffed with Holocaust deniers.
Her snack’s a cat. The dump’s her park.
You hack at your ancient red hills
Read more "To a Construction Worker in the Hills of Portugal Near the Sea"
like those creatures who eat parts of their own bodies
digging for the gold of overpopulation, pollution, and upward mobility
for 60 escudos a day
to deliver the Northerner’s rich dream
and at sunset sit in the old plaza deafened by swallows
and return to the crumbling tile-roofed box of earth beyond the hill
and at dawn once again set the long white caterpillar of villas
creeping toward you to devour you.