#AmericanWriters
When I taught you at eight to ride a bicycle, loping along beside you as you wobbled away
What we want is never simple. We move among the things we thought we wanted: a face, a room, an open book
I am only leaving you for a handful of days but it feels as thought i will be gone forever the way the door closes
1. THE SACRIFICE On this tile the knife like a sickle-moon hangs in the painted air
The gathering family throws shadows around us, it is the late afternoon Of the family. There is still enough light
We invent our gods the way the Greeks did, in our own image’but magnified. Athena, the very mother of wisdom, squabbled with Poseidon
I sing a song of the croissant and of the wily French who trick themselves daily back to the world
My husband gives me an A for last night’s supper, an incomplete for my ironing, a B plus in bed. My son says I am average,
Some say it was a pear Eve ate. Why else the shape of the womb,
I remember what my father told me: There is an age when you are most… He was just past fifty then, Was it something about the trees t… There is an age when you are most…
I married you for all the wrong re… charmed by your dangerous family h… by the innocent muscles, bulging l… weapons under your shirt, by your… the colors of painted scraps of su…
Pierre Bonnard would enter the museum with a tube of paint in his pocket and a sable brush. Then violating the sanctity of one of his own frames
Perhaps the purpose of leaves is t… the verticality of trees which we… as if for the first time: row afte… yearning upwards. And since we wil… ourselves for so long, let us now…
For Jews, the Cossacks are always… Therefore I think the sun spot on… is melanoma. Therefore I celebrat… New Year’s Eve by counting my annual dead.
We think of hidden in a white dres… among the folded linens and sachet… of well-kept cupboards, or just ou… sending jellies and notes with no… to all the wondering Amherst neigh…