POETRY

“Poetry is language at its most distilled and most powerful.”
—Rita Dove
Time Travel

I count my homes—
those of my scattered youth
the sanctuary of our young family
the intermittent rest stops
of apartments and vacations.

Making Israeli Salad

Now that the Israeli has left, it falls
on me to make the salad.

Hollywood Hills
the remarkable thing

I am still waiting for the lion

Clueless & Briefly Gorgeous

I buy too much, for someone of my stature.
could pawn a skinny metaphor to purchase a plump skin.
its reputed in our lineage— to daydream a life that shreds our pockets.

My Multiverses

It is the 70s. 1970s? 2570s? Who knows?
Audre and I have a penthouse in New York.

Lavandula

Listen to me: I know
the winter gloom in
mid-summer…

The love of my life moved from portland to new england

He has stories that I am not in
anymore. It’s healed this way.

Fallout Shelter

I imagined a cascade of slow death for all / that mattered…

The State School 1984 His Given Name Was Wilbur  We Called Him Magpie

Mostly he ate what was put on his plate
snuck coffee grounds or dirt for a snack
Once a zipper Unzipped

3:17 AM as Edward Hopper’s Nighthawks

Part of being a good sad person
is always painting the shadows
in the right direction and knowing
what sorrow to art with.

Dear Deer in the Compost Pile

I tap at the alphabet while a single deer
taps at the dirt beyond the brush
on the far side of the tree line.

Unerased | Steep Steps

My grandmother asked, “Does it feel like being widowed?”

Good Driver

Lights on the dashboard spell out
“You still can’t kiss me”

Finding My Fix

I slumped in front of a massive desk, a passive patient corroded with failure and dread.

robertson quay

how does an afternoon turn
on its axis?

A Way of Seeing

Just starlight and some small scribbling across vinyl.

Dis Place Ment

People have always coped with flooding, and they learned to cope with death.

Snow Falls from Branches

Should have found a job by now; should have slept in the night;
should have boiled old coffee before noon.

Sprung (April)

I like to think I’m also sprung,
released from the furnace knocks,
done with the heavy meat stews
and salty soups.

All In

I don’t
know why
I’m in the garden
kneeling on dirt