Poems

“The pillagers with their noisy knives, their silent radiation. You look like a moon crater with a shallow lake…”

“Like white linen butterflies, envelopes flew and fluttered with each passing car. Refugees on the asphalt…”

“Anger’s fierce light split the shell I wore, seared this grief-bruised brain, with fiery cleansing…”

“Each fall the sharp-eyed gannets arrived in long lines, plunging from the sky and learning how to swallow underwater.”

Aching claws and depression and addiction so deep, she sometimes just wants to sleep in her bed forever.

My sister is slowly killing me with every failed suicide. The one thing we have in common: We float.

Having come to write a tribute to my son, but unable to wrap my heart around final words…