Poetry
WHEN YOU BRING IN THE PAPER
You’ve seen these photos before, empty bird cage ribs of a child sitting in the dust. But this copper, naked body, shining supine on the front page of August 2, 2011, seems more insect than child, swollen chest, a thorax, bent limbs jutting at angles, hip fleshless as the joint of a Jerusalem cricket, skull …
MAKING LUNCH
Because nothing I see this morning brings us closer to spring, snow falling out of the Jersey sky into the cloudy river, wet shoes facing toe-in by the stove, the uppers spotted with rock salt and because each sound signifies winter— wind in the wires and the far-off train like the voice of a child …
GREY BIRDS
When I glance out the window three grey birds fly through me and fade as dots in the gloomy June sky. I’m one of them now— maybe all three. Or are the four of us now someone I knew a long time ago, just becoming conscious of the fog?
BACKORDERED
Each morning she drank her tea and then stamped the used tea bag onto thick creamy paper. She did this day after day, weeks became months, until she had nine tea bags across, thirteen down. When I understood how long I’d be in bed, I took my time with catalogs, thumbing through pages, folding corners. …
ANGER: THE RAPE
No cruelty is like the cruelty one turns against oneself after being raped one feels covered in slime and shit said the old woman grimly This place used to be a park now it is a parking lot ha ha for which I am in the ornamental fringe don’t tell me I should get over …
Fatherhood, Beginnings
Sometimes when I’ve been sitting in a different room for a while I forget I have a child. Then I wander into the humidified air, feel the softness of the blue rug between my toes and place my hand upon his rising chest. What will I tell my son when he asks if I am …
On a Day That Bombs
On a day that bombs were being dropped by drone aircraft in several regions of Libya, blowing apart fragile bodies, many of whom were living their sincere and momentary lives, it was a perfect day here except for the wind and the flies. The flies were too large to ignore. It was 73 degrees. The …
The Wittenberg Backdoor Bar
For my seventieth birthday my daughter transforms our living room into a bar— black sheets over windows, candles on small tables, the family gathered. She has provided a karaoke player to fulfill my old dream to sing love songs into a microphone. I’ve entered through the back to croon “Smoke Gets in Your Eyes” while …
Our Lady of the Midnight Kitchen
Beans float like baby Jesuses in the soup. I get a call from a lost one-eyed cousin: he says the world is big enough in one place. I was sleeping in a cold room when the sun came up. My eyes were open, my mouth bloody, full of cat-claws and nettles. Always my life unravels …