The Kingfishers

The Kingfishers

  She prefers the psych ward. Her blue nurse-gloves check restraints, flit like the furtive wingflaps of a kingfisher, her brown skin hidden by light-refracting feathers. By their own nature, fitted sheets remain on the bed, held fast and taut. The patients make...
Late Style

Late Style

Seeking out sugar but settling for deer shit my mother leans against the side of an old Babylonian cigarette machine purple textiled    palanquined over then drops down beside me on the timbered mesa where we huddle over a vista of primitive cities...
Skinned

Skinned

In the chemical light of afternoon, our bodies curl over phones, sprawl slightly toward windows, holding empty forms, as if it’s test day.   Once we were boys and girls.   A faded poster says we’ve shed a thousand skins since then.   Outside in the...
Mirror, Mirror

Mirror, Mirror

I don’t wear my mother’s body. There’s no use sneaking around the house, a gingerbread prefab, forest-scented with frosting snow. Punch drunk on fairy tales. Non-ascetics: you & me— There are two kinds of romantics. Hungry poets traveling in packs. Youths high on...
Wild Lemons

Wild Lemons

    We wake like bees and peel a lemon. Then there is a glowing. Do you want to eat it wedge by wedge? Pull the pith off, keep the seeds. Lift a blue crayon, ring each other’s mouths in blue. We all live under a rule— a lemon law for what’s beyond repair:...
SHAARE TIKVAH (GATES OF HOPE), LISBON

SHAARE TIKVAH (GATES OF HOPE), LISBON

  SHAARE TIKVAH (GATES OF HOPE), LISBON * In this landscape, churches seem displaced. Half close your eyes in quiet contemplation, look behind the convents and the crosses. This is no realm for heavy robes and rosaries. It belongs to those who study time and...
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