Category: Poetry

Hill Cemetery The day after the funeral, we drive to the grave, and my mother goes alone to that patch of fresh dirt the size of her husband’s coffin. In it she...

                          &nbs...

  We ate the ugly ones The good ones, we picked and handled like eggs, sorted them by size and color, and placed them in rows in wooden crates. The Aztecs ...

      THE RULE YOU DO NOT BREAK You offer water always in the desert, water to anyone who walks, water to every creature. Walk even for one hour ...

The Ox and Lamb Kept Time Little Drummer Boy And so it came to pass in those days that the animals were musical. Their cloven hooves, caked hard in mud and wast...

  Approach We rolled on metal wheels hungry for the next inch of rail, the next mile on the map, surging towards a jagged seam of earth through which we wo...

Watering It doesn’t have to be morning, I used to say. Or even Every day. But now it’s three whole months at home again And nothing but aching for M...

Murmurs Gone, our friend,though now whispersto keep him in good standing. He fought it—the murmur— from the start, ranlong distance, track.What about the time, ...

  AFTER A LONG DRY SPELL You’re able to count the drops at first, soft explosions in dust, on dry grass blades like withered crops and on nail heads, threa...

  1969 Which is the epic moment?  Billowing-off or craft’s fly-fall to surface, huffing flames and dust, all those one -eyed creatures in enormous skins fu...