Death Seat
By Poetry Issue 55
Night before last I hit a deer as I sped meteor-like down a dark road—the thud of meeting bone beneath flesh. Last night it was a man, only he made no sound flying from the car’s bumper into blackness. Maybe it wasn’t me, but that shadowy figure behind the wheel, with me in the death…
Read MorePetition: California Avenue
By Poetry Issue 64
Taped to a red “College/Career Info” catalog box near this block’s crowded sidewalk bistro, one business envelope. Please pray for my husband Cliff for his health. He is very, very ill. God loves you, Dedra. Maybe hung just that day, ten minutes since. Looks more like a week, open but not torn, faded script &…
Read MoreThe Preacher Addresses the Seminarians
By Poetry Issue 81
I tell you it’s a bitch existence some Sundays and it’s no good pretending you don’t have to pretend, don’t have to hitch up those gluefutured nags Hope and Help and whip the sorry chariot of yourself toward whatever hell your heaven is on days like these. I tell you it takes some hunger heaven…
Read More