Content Categorized ‘Poetry’


The seagull in the wind stays hovering transfixed by elements, suspended seconds dripping off her feathers. Look too closely and it looks like flying—a hoax some ghostly

Get Up Seven Times, Fall Down Eight

On July 6, 2016, thirty-two-year-old Philando Castile was pulled over by police in Falcon Heights, Minnesota, in a car with his girlfriend, Diamond Reynolds, and her four-year-old daughter. After being asked for his license and proof of insurance, Castile told the officer that he had a firearm. He was told, “Don’t pull it out,” and even though he insisted that he would not, Officer Jeronimo Yanez shot him seven times. The shooting and Castile’s death were live-streamed on Facebook by Diamond Reynolds.   I. The Road Runner is a beeping charmer, blue-feather pompadoured, hooked to his lusty habit of turning the Coyote into blooming asterisk and spectacular dust. It’s believed that he has no soul. The Coyote, bewildered and bulge-eyed, dies and dies and dies in a bloodless loop. His bones, ludicrously close to the sky, lance his nappy pelt and leave him deflated, as flat as the earth


Le temps a laissé son manteau. . . . —Charles d’Orleans Rajon . . . turned in his best season . . . erratic as ever. —the Guardian, 2012 Rondo’s tour . . . will continue in New Orleans. . . . —Sports Illustrated, 2017   Time” called; a faked-out-of-its-jock, short-winded, sweat-drenched man-to-man (“the Garden crowd erupting . . . ”) ran for cover—high-tops freeze, limbs knock,

Fallen From

“If you run after me,” said the little bunny, “I will become a fish in a trout stream and I will swim away from you.” —Margaret Wise Brown, The Runaway Bunny   Did I fall did I when you fell did I full lose my place

Outside the Refugium

The myths and folklore of traditional people the world over are replete with descriptions . . . of refugia, the inviolable strongholds of animals and plants of which the storyteller and her people steer clear . . . missing only the human, and holding out the promise of a less tumultuous future. —Barry Lopez, Home Ground   The sparrow is an opened book, an angel parted down the breast, head turned to the side so one black eye can search the stippled sky