FOR ARCHIBALD J. MOTLEY’S BROWN GIRL   She’d walk up and take the sandwich from your hand to feed her kids She’d wear red ’round her rear on Sunday to Sunday service Her lips were painted red Her nails were … Continued

The Almost Audience (for Phyllis Wheatley)

      Of Senegambia and seven, she should have been of the not-to be-taken, the not-high price, for a not-prime boy’s a girl of the unsuitable labor (birth not work)—and that years away. (Some of the captured, their spirits: … Continued

A Dependency

          You can lose your brother to Hell and still be happy inside your house. The house has many rooms. You find elegance in its brown walls and furnishings, and though the flames that rush past … Continued


      Instead of crying on your shoulder I cry on the internet. Instead of crying I make allusions to crying by cherry picking the subjects. Instead of crying on his shoulder I build a fountain of black amethyst … Continued

A Rare Condition

After being poked & blood tested by the specialist who spoke Hmmm In several dialects including an obscure amputee sign language I eavesdropped On her conferring with beleaguered foreign colleagues by the soda machine, Whispering vowel-heavy polysyllabic antiseptic gibberish; apparently, … Continued

Drafts of Love: five poems

translated from French and Arabic by Susanna Lang and Kay Keikkinen         A woman walks by hands in her pockets once she has passed out of sight I’ll forget your last words I no longer know if … Continued

Sonic Hedgehog

      The gene named for a fruit-fly larva, I read, which when mutated sprouts bristles all over it. One of those genes you better have just right or horrible things can go wrong; e.g. you wind up with … Continued

[If the rain is everywhere]

        If the rain is everywhere and it is we will soon be taking to the boats and carrying with us only our most precious and lightest things: the birds, in pairs or in flocks, two or … Continued

Home with H

Translated from Danish by Thomas E. Kennedy         Especially in spring in a large party it is clear which persons are closest to death: They don’t know why they avoid each other’s gaze One stares himself blind … Continued

AUTOBIOGRAPHY ||| Dunes Review

      My mother’s eyes—a green sometimes blue, or gray—     my father studied them the way he studied light              with his camera lens constantly, there was a sadness, Slavic and cloud-like. My … Continued


      Hatched from the wet egg of a sculptor’s eye a quarter century ago, it grips its squat stump, wings outstretched as if to dry. Its bones are wires, its plumage ragged strips of pages torn from my … Continued