#AmericanWriters
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
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.
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
After Adam Zagajewski I am child to no one, mother to a… wife for the long haul. On fall days I am happy with my dying brethren, the leaves…
When they taught me that what matt… was not the strict iambic line goo… over the page but the variations in that line and the tension produ… on the ear by the surprise of diff…
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,
Because the shad are swimming in our waters now, breaching the skin of the river with their
The door of winter is frozen shut, and like the bodies of long extinct animals, cars lie abandoned wherever
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
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…
Into the gravity of my life, the serious ceremonies of polish and paper and pen, has come this manic animal
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
1. THE SACRIFICE On this tile the knife like a sickle-moon hangs in the painted air