#AmericanWriters #FemaleWriters
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
What we want is never simple. We move among the things we thought we wanted: a face, a room, an open book
When our cars touched When you lifted the hood of mine To see the intimate workings under… When we were bound together By a pulse of pure energy,
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…
1. THE SACRIFICE On this tile the knife like a sickle-moon hangs in the painted air
The door of winter is frozen shut, and like the bodies of long extinct animals, cars lie abandoned wherever
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…
The gathering family throws shadows around us, it is the late afternoon Of the family. There is still enough light
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
When I taught you at eight to ride a bicycle, loping along beside you as you wobbled away
We invent our gods the way the Greeks did, in our own image’but magnified. Athena, the very mother of wisdom, squabbled with Poseidon
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.
January Contorted by wind, mere armatures for ice or snow, the trees resolve to endure for now,
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…
Some say it was a pear Eve ate. Why else the shape of the womb,