Story of Grandmother
Call this art of witchcraft an art like the poem, paid for in blood, milk, bread. Through the mouth all desires known and willed into being, doing as she was instructed, which means speaking the body of an old wives’ tale, the one where the witch spun is a girl, …
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A Poetry of Absence
The men who waltz into my chest smile as my father would before he walked out one morning and crashed into a swollen thigh. What we truly know—dying is somewhere between ejaculation and a sigh. If he ever returned, we’d fill the empty china still on the dinner table with …
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Half Sonnets/Full Portraits #4
today the dream-eaters are happy creatures: have eaten many winning lottery tickets. left the falling teeth to do their falling. and. inhaled many I wish I would haves. i too wish to be content in the exact situation that i find myself in. in whatever / every moment. like when …
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Becoming the Man My Father Never Intended
+++++++++++++++—after Naked Man with Knife, by Jackson Pollock Fathers always kill their sons, chop them into flailing +++++++++++++++++flesh, grave lives survived in pieces. Sons always resurrect their fathers, the angles of those bodies +++++++++++++++++cutting into each other. The sky is always red. The blade is always bright. +++++++++++++++++My father is …
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body
Winner of the 2022 Maine Postmark Poetry Contest, held in conjunction with the Belfast Poetry Festival because the memories are buried Like bones in the yard. & only We know where to find them. That’s the trouble with God I think. all trust and no pay out. A truly …
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Artifacts That Might Be Maps
It matters, yes, who’s at the wheel, where you’re headed, tires humming a low rumble on the road, hills rocking like the sides of a great wooden cradle—let’s say it’s your dad up front, his Old Spice aftershave and cup of black coffee braiding with the summer winds that blow, …
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Anybody?
Have you ever stood on the front porch of your mother’s house, talking to your uncle, a big ol’ redneck with a big ol’ mustache, the kind of man who gets upset about police brutality and who doesn’t understand why those guys use their guns, because when he worked in …
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Lake Bird Flying
The first time I found you snacking in the closet on durian chips and mooncakes three years expired, you told me that we all have our secrets. You dropped a handful of red and gold candy in my hands—barely big enough to hold it all—that you had stolen from some …
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A Small Part
The star is beautiful. No, beautiful is too simple. She is ethereal. She is moonlight, and her rugged co-star is a snow-capped mountain. No—she’s an orchid, and he’s a bend in a lazy river. You are an extra seated across the plane’s aisle. If the leads are moonlight and mountains …
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Mom’s Night Out
It’s been a long week, and we’re all excited to be out. Excited to be eating our dinner without a small human on our laps. Excited to not be needed for a few hours. Excited to be among friends. One of us has put in fifty hours at the office …
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