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Poetry
Inheritance
My great-aunt was not the type of lady to smoke / out on the porch. No, she lit up in her living room, and up / and down the stairs, and in her bedroom on hot / Mississippi nights with the windows thrown open.
May 2020
Two Weeks After A Silent Retreat
How quickly I lose my love / of all things. I nearly flick an ant / off the cliff of an armchair.
May 2020Selected Poems
— from “Estelle And Bob” | My father kneels at my mother’s grave / to ask her permission to go on match.com.
May 2020In The Car Ahead
He needs more time to brake / so he drives slow. He needs / more time to read traffic signs / so he drives slow.
April 2020Staccato
I’m trying to work at this coffee shop / while a young woman with blue hair / and chiseled biceps, two tables away, / holds forth about how no one / should ever take medication / for anxiety and depression
March 2020Baptism
My daughter writes on her Father’s Day card, / “Thanks for baptizing me in the stream / and planting the seed of nature-love in my soul.” / Wow. I am a lucky man.
March 2020
Selected Poems
— from “After He Left” | I returned home from work and stood / alone in the darkest / room in the house in my blouse / and skirt, barefoot.
March 2020After The Reading
a woman walked up and asked how / the young black poet the month before / could shake with such anger during / his reading. Is it really / that bad? It can’t be that bad, / can it?
February 2020Swimming Lessons
late into california’s indian summer you climb / onto your father’s back wrap your arms around his neck / and slide into the depths of your grandmother’s / pool
February 2020Peaches
There were signs, I suppose. First she stopped lining up with the other kids for ice-cream sandwiches and chocolate bars. No dessert, she said.
January 2020
