The train stopped, still loads new passengers, but the conductor won’t let me get off and kiss you. You know that’s what I haunted to do.
RECENTLY PUBLISHED
Poem in Which I Am Too Political to Read at Your School
O, ancient / wonder, rose of unsullied joy, I sing / to the majesty of your sun-loved face / —your color so pure, petal fine as wing, / leaf’s thin veins a natural puzzle of lace.
Becoming Ghost
He says: I want it to smell / like the real thing. // The real thing / is a landscape // of work and death–– / the names of our ancestors // slack in our mouths, / just the art of loving // your family line enough / to reproduce it.
Involuntary Exits
I am a child of wayward fruit / trying to touch a violence— / its bruised shape, a mirror / of my own dark face & hers.
“Inheritance” from The Year of Blue Water
I return, sitting in the audience, listening to conversation like a sermon. How do we keep each other?
