Dan Beachy-Quick

When I became a traveler through another’s grief, When her face became for me a kind of architecture, I could wander the halls, I could turn The porcelain knobs and leave my evidence, I could Be present, sit on the bare mattress, look at the sh [...]

Your parents leave you with the roots Of their own lives in your hand, You who with your own life pulled their life up, Dirt falling from the onion’s bulb Back into dirt. Ritual in the morning light Each generation repeats, muscle Strong at o [...]