#AmericanWriters
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…
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,
I sing a song of the croissant and of the wily French who trick themselves daily back to the world
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
Because the shad are swimming in our waters now, breaching the skin of the river with their
January Contorted by wind, mere armatures for ice or snow, the trees resolve to endure for now,
We invent our gods the way the Greeks did, in our own image’but magnified. Athena, the very mother of wisdom, squabbled with Poseidon
When I taught you at eight to ride a bicycle, loping along beside you as you wobbled away
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
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
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…
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
I have banked the fires of my body into a small but steady blaze here in the kitchen where the dough has a life of its…
The door of winter is frozen shut, and like the bodies of long extinct animals, cars lie abandoned wherever