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Poetry
Detroit As Barn
Gone the hay. Gone the tools. Gone the morning work. / Over there a tractor rusts. Gone the cows, goats, / the slack-tongued mule.
February 2011How Therapists Dance
Washington, D.C., after a conference: / we head into the urban night / led by the jive-talking white ghetto boy / raised in black foster homes, / bent on showing us the town.
February 2011Faccia Tosta
VISTAs didn’t draw paychecks. Volunteers in Service to America, we signed on to live, theoretically, like our clients — in this case, convicts in North Carolina prisons.
February 2011What People Say When They Mean Something Other Than What They Say
I have become a broken student of what people say / When they mean something other than what they say. / I have been dealing with some things meant pregnant.
January 2011His Name Is John
If you hadn’t named him, you could say / it wasn’t meant to be. / If you’d had another boy, / you could’ve wiped the slate clean
January 2011Selected Poems
— from “Summer Dusk” | I put in my goddamn hearing aid / in order to listen to a bird that sounds / like the side of a drinking glass / struck lightly by a fork
December 2010Without Tending
Just down the road a row of basil stands tight / in plastic bags, a line of buoys in a frigid sea, / while our yard lies open in the bitter cold.
December 2010Selected Poems
— from “Field Manual: Light Duty” | Think not of battles, but rather after, / when the tremor in your right leg / becomes a shake you cannot stop
November 2010In My Good Death
I will find myself waist deep in high summer grass. The humming / shock of the golden light. And I will hear them before I see / them and know right away who is bounding across the field to meet / me. All my good dogs will come then
October 2010
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