Poetry
the day before they found her baby tuckedinto that crawlspace for safekeeping,i sat on the kitchen floor in front of her,just two houses down from my own,knobbed bones of her knees dimpling my back
My brother’s buying some late night drive-thru tacosfinds an empty parking lottakes two bites and starts to choke on his tearsthrows the meat and shells onto cracked concrete.
We dig our father’s grave with a post hole digger.My younger brother jabs the double blade into the dark soil.Across the creek, coyotes yowl to the dusk.We’re not used to hearing them.
Joe takes the dog to the service station;feeds him donuts. Sometimes chocolate frosted.Can’t poison this dog—he’s a Lab.They hang out for awhile,listening to the regulars hold forth from their
Reticent, needs drawing out, Miss Rinehart
scribbled on my sixth-grade report card.
I vowed to never return, but instead
She chops onions dumps themin black beans garnishedwith overcooked porkadds cumin and rosemaryleftover out-of-dateserendipity for the poorlined neatly on the other side
Put me where I am usefuljust beneath the topsoilhalf-inch down of warmthand wet loam in my handspitch me a shovel or rakelet me get up when the sunsplits land from sky and blazes
My horoscope saidToday is a ten.
You’re driving; I’m ridingIn a Cadillac convertibleThrough the pouring rain,Soaked to the skin, and more.
There was a boy who was not yet a man who spent a summer graftingbuds onto peach branches. It was hot; it was the bay shore ofMaryland and 1974. He carried a small knife and used it with his
What kind of times are these, whento talk about trees is almost a crimebecause it implies silence about so many horrors?—Bertolt Brecht, “To Those Born Later”
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Wisconsin Academy Offices
1922 University Avenue
Madison, Wisconsin 53726
Phone: 608.733.6633
James Watrous Gallery
3rd Floor, Overture Center for the Arts
201 State Street
Madison, WI 53703
Phone: 608.733.6633 x25