#Americans #Women
Some say it was a pear Eve ate. Why else the shape of the womb,
I want to write you a love poem as headlong as our creek after thaw when we stand
Pierre Bonnard would enter the museum with a tube of paint in his pocket and a sable brush. Then violating the sanctity of one of his own frames
January Contorted by wind, mere armatures for ice or snow, the trees resolve to endure for now,
When I taught you at eight to ride a bicycle, loping along beside you as you wobbled away
I have banked the fires of my body into a small but steady blaze here in the kitchen where the dough has a life of its…
I am only leaving you for a handful of days but it feels as thought i will be gone forever the way the door closes
For Jews, the Cossacks are always… Therefore I think the sun spot on… is melanoma. Therefore I celebrat… New Year’s Eve by counting my annual dead.
The gathering family throws shadows around us, it is the late afternoon Of the family. There is still enough light
1. THE SACRIFICE On this tile the knife like a sickle-moon hangs in the painted air
When they taught me that what matt… was not the strict iambic line goo… over the page but the variations in that line and the tension produ… on the ear by the surprise of diff…
We invent our gods the way the Greeks did, in our own image’but magnified. Athena, the very mother of wisdom, squabbled with Poseidon
Because the shad are swimming in our waters now, breaching the skin of the river with their
Perhaps the purpose of leaves is t… the verticality of trees which we… as if for the first time: row afte… yearning upwards. And since we wil… ourselves for so long, let us now…
After Adam Zagajewski I am child to no one, mother to a… wife for the long haul. On fall days I am happy with my dying brethren, the leaves…