This Year of the Saw
After Camille T. Dungy Is this the year for understanding? The smell of catastrophe, in all dimensions, descends like age. …
Previous articles
High Wire
Tensed and static as statues, angel-gray with use, we make our way across the wire with cauterized senses. Nights and …
May Flowers
After Susan Stewart I sometimes think of another place, another world, another life, somewhere with wild things hurtling through thickets, …
Self-Defense
After Margaret Atwood Under the cracked whip of a light too insistent to be spontaneous, this day can be left …
Netflix
These days we keep our wary distances, isolated in our vacant spaces, the hours peeling like lead paint. We are …
Dusk
Night obscures what the sun made simple. The simple confusions of dusk, shadow’s tense blending with light, light appearing and …
Reflected Light
It’s just that there is no prior shape to be ascertained, so it isn’t a matter of not seeing. It …
Aftermath
There will be no lack of aftermath, no absence of knowledge, of a situation finally grasped. The brain makes what …
Lost Things
They are ghostly dreams now, even so, we keep the names, it makes us feel better. We want a scenario …
The Truth About the Past
This poem is prompted by “Letter to My Great, Great Grandchild” by J. P. Grasser The truth is we did …
Poetry on the run 