POETRY

“Poetry is language at its most distilled and most powerful.”
—Rita Dove
Finding My Fix

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

Vase

The storm passes without snow.
The car waits loyally in the back lot.

Tea

my father holds
his favorite drink

Good Driver

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

An Interview with Dylan Krieger

Dylan Krieger’s poetry is unflinching, grotesque, and beautiful. Her work tackles trauma, wrestles authority, and is a decadent sonic feast.

Me and Other Bodily Accessories

I am not a guide
for every traveler
of loss.

Mom, in Her Dementia, Steals Oranges

and apples, mackintosh mostly, but any kind left in The Pub
at the Assisted Living Place

[Zoetrope with Particulates in it and a Newborn]

and then her eyes fully opened — blazed through with strands of mud

Snow Falls from Branches

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

Pit Stop in Kansas

we drove on through
the blue seal of morning as the turbines
turned and winked out their hearts

Lobster

I suffer visions and many indignities
while looking for the Lobster

love poem with dead leaves & color

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

heavy rain
The Plot

Long after midnight, we’re talking about our first time

appetites

you quit wearing pants
loaf around your yard
in hole-nipped panties

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.

Letter To a Young Poet

Do not say anything anybody else has said ever. Things are not “bleached by sun.”

A Way of Seeing

Just starlight and some small scribbling across vinyl.

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

The Kotel in Jerusalem is Filled with Cracks

We found in his suitcase T-shirts, his siddur, gifts he bought for his grandchildren…