Ode In This Condition ||| Boston Review

Praise for this wending, this bearing beginning. The least stuck is groaning, the most has given in. Words a rotted barn, full of must and straw and animals sleeping. I want to dream with you the mountainsides, the beaches, the … Continued

Discountry ||| Radar

A wooded, bloodied word, a dozing black daisy. Into you out of my head how many times, out of air and earthward, bird with no throat, bird unopened. Unencumbered of my desire, your arms free of the frozen stream. To … Continued

Ante Matter ||| Drunken Boat

Pretty good work if you can get it, making paradises in abandoned banks stony exterior, marble interior, the registers like a failed carillon (toneless) striking all hours at all hours. Every noon the ghost attendants ghost-walk up to the kiosk, … Continued

Of Mule and Deer ||| Boston Review

Out of a tin-cold, murmuring black wood Lightly you lope, pale deer, lifting A story from pages of snow Nothing turns in your eye they say Toward the tin-cold and murmuring black wood I bear a display case of blue … Continued

Separate State ||| The Diagram

The family two docks down, their chatter straining over the talk radio blaring, in-laws, who never had kids, warning relative’s kids, “Too close, kids.” Me on my dock thinking No kids, so that’s the reason the kids are too close, but no breaks. The in-laws: “Stop it. Stop horsing around.” “Oh, go ahead, fall … Continued

Cherries ||| Orion Magazine

In the minute it took to fetch the blue bowl from the kitchen to pick the just-ripe cherries, the blackbirds had come. They picked the branches clean, ascending into their own blue bowl. Lacking wings, I look for meaning. We … Continued

Puzzle Pieces ||| Compose

  When I’m done, I take the elevator down. This gray morning feels like late afternoon. On the second floor, the man who walks like I once walked—two months ago—steps into the elevator, and exclaims, Good timing!  Was he at physical … Continued

Animals ||| Kenyon Review Online

In the very beginning, I spent time hoping that the baby would be human and not squirrel or—as I legitimately feared—possum. Why wouldn’t or couldn’t my uterus, an organ lined in risk and chance, twist the signal, cradle the curled … Continued