Category: Poetry

Discreet, to say the least, the arrival. No Uber or cab. Feasts, garbed in haute couture, no bib, no offer of a bite. Delights in al fresco dining, private backyard, a must. The wow of such beings, pate lowering, extracting...

Feline eyes, ageless gray marble, Nile into mine. Kohl-lined sheaths dissolve seasons, this day, that time lost to vertiginous chimes, the whistle of desert winds, sand that bronzes my thighs. A claw pierces my shoulder. Am I,...

Rhodie leaves riot post rain, erase chill, extend waxy tongues as green tiers glisten. Unborn April, in queue, dropkicks lagging March and rivulets widen rising xylem highways, enliven the jade expanse for reckless newbie buds...

November’s cold fingers grip, the bulb planter’s arthritic hands force down into dirt, down I say, come on— but the soil resists my insistence, the goal only twelve scarlet tulips to remind me—to rewind birth a breath,...

your silence unnerves me I know you are here yet search your hiding spaces to no avail and so I go about my day and suddenly you appear stealth-like silent with your tiny mew to rub against my legs to ask for dinner and those...

We stayed on an Air bnb boat on the Seine at the base of the L’Ouvre for our honeymoon Our lock still lives on the Locks of Love Bridge and a piece of my heart will always live in Paris looking out on the city from the top...

I’m not ready to let you go when the cancer takes its hold and there are no other options I cannot imagine a world or a life without you even if one day I am lucky enough to fall in love again you are and will forever be...

1 a bird house crushed by its red maple bulldozed by a Caterpillar: 2 my sister sculpts battered objects forgotten at the scene of disposal into objects gathered by her hands: 3 [if] we find comfort in our place, there we are...

We are all, in some sense, bound east for Cardiff– our lives fading in some dingy hold– holding some dingy hand we barely knew. We die alone on a vast sea– a part of its endless motion, but never in view of it.   Michael J....

American teenager sleeping by the tidepools at low tide, coming down from a high on summer solstice, two weeks before that trip to Europe…