Skip to main content

Poetry

Illustration by Denise Nestor

Reading the Bones

In his response to my first letter to him, Charles Wright said of my own decision to write poems, “I hope it gives you what it has given me—a life.” I took this wide view from such a hard gazer of a poet as both balm and call.


To continue reading, please login or subscribe.

Easter, the American Church in Paris

 Very cold, like in a forest’s clearing, shadowed by grayboulders. Very cold, and the pipe organan enormous paternal tree, bleeding sap. The eye climbs and crossesand climbs again to take it in. The stainedglass casts gems onto the stone floor [...]

Sparrow

When the fledgling fell 
from its nest, by meager attempt,
by pinwheel descent,
and lay, unguarded,

Pages