“Corpses like night soil / get carted off”
By Poetry Issue 107
this is / not your tragedy this is / a scrap a slip a fragment/ a swatch of fabric cut / off the roll
Read MoreLocket
By Poetry Issue 106
You carry our son in a locket
you hang around your neck
each morning, a way, I guess,
of carrying what isn’t and what is
Quasset and Sprucedale
By Poetry Issue 106
In my mind,
my son cannot be nowhere, and yet I cannot imagine
where he is, except here, growing older inside me.”
Pops
By Poetry Issue 106
I remember you in your final atonement, how calm you were.
Though you couldn’t tell me, you understood the names hidden in the dusk.
The Devil’s in the Details
By Poetry Issue 106
And It Came to Pass in Those Days
By Poetry Issue 105
I hear these words in your voice no matter who says them, in the well-water smell of the basement, by the artificial tree you and she would one day put a sheet over, so you never had to take it down or put it up again.
Read MoreDiagramming the Live Oak
By Poetry Issue 105
Because we die, we all die, and the oak lives,
those imagined rings like so many glasses
What Else
By Poetry Issue 103
Proof
By Poetry Issue 103
Why pray for the dead if not for this,
for God’s speed on their journey, home,
beneath the burden of the proof they bear.
New Year’s Day
By Poetry Issue 103
Suffering, I once believed, was a human privilege,
but in that moment I watched as God
died, as God witnessed.