POETRY

“Poetry is language at its most distilled and most powerful.”
—Rita Dove
The Body is a Sin

The sin is existing.

I could, even now, go down to the water

Even from this distance I could go out
the door it would bang shut and crumble

Unerased | Steep Steps

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

Ode To the Dove Pt. VI (Avrom Sutzkever)

Yes I am guilty, I’m guilty. A sin was desirable then.
Bring the dancer back to the stalks.

love poem with dead leaves & color

I would always rather be happy than
dignified. Rather held than held
in awe.

Sadness is a Sin

If my life was the size of my arm, I would stretch it out for you.

Lobster

I suffer visions and many indignities
while looking for the Lobster

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.

if detritus is all i’m made up of

my love is a glass shard, a knife made of madness and moonlight,
and there are already way too many fragments in this house

On the Night Row-Houses Across the Street Catch Fire

You let the yellow glow
from eye sockets. The building up the street
is burning faster and faster.

Aging Punks

Every so often, they add a tattoo
in honor of some long-forgotten love.

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

Dis Place Ment

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

Clotheslines

Ma wrings
a wet world
of colors

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.

There is an alternative universe

Ghosts for hire, whispers in her mouth,
cysts to feel, the symmetry of a gift.

Despairathon

You’ve spent a lifetime training
for this.

Sprung (April)

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

Tea

my father holds
his favorite drink

A Way of Seeing

Just starlight and some small scribbling across vinyl.