#Americans #Women
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…
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,
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…
1. THE SACRIFICE On this tile the knife like a sickle-moon hangs in the painted air
I sing a song of the croissant and of the wily French who trick themselves daily back to the world
The gathering family throws shadows around us, it is the late afternoon Of the family. There is still enough light
What we want is never simple. We move among the things we thought we wanted: a face, a room, an open book
I want to write you a love poem as headlong as our creek after thaw when we stand
It was early May, I think a moment of lilac or dogwood when so many promises are made it hardly matters if a few are bro… My mother and father still hovered
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
When I taught you at eight to ride a bicycle, loping along beside you as you wobbled away
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…
Finding a new poet is like finding a new wildflower out in the woods. You don’t see its name in the flower books, and nobody you tell believes
January Contorted by wind, mere armatures for ice or snow, the trees resolve to endure for now,
The door of winter is frozen shut, and like the bodies of long extinct animals, cars lie abandoned wherever