#AmericanWriters
It’s late. I’ve come to find the flower which blossoms like a saint dying upside down. The rose won’t do, nor the iris. I’ve come to find the moody one, t…
I’ve pulled the last of the year’s… The garden is bare now. The grou… brown and old. What is left of th… in the maples at the corner of my eye. I turn, a cardinal vanishes.
Sad is the man who is asked for a… and can’t come up with one. His five-year-old son waits in his… Not the same story, Baba. A new o… The man rubs his chin, scratches h…
Because this graveyard is a hill, I must climb up to see my dead, stopping once midway to rest beside this tree. It was here, between the anticipat…
Ivy ties the cellar door in autumn, in summer morning glory wraps the ribs of a mouse. Love binds me to the one whose hair I’ve found in my mouth,
In sixth grade Mrs. Walker slapped the back of my head and made me stand in the corner for not knowing the difference between persimmon and precision.
Alone with time, he waits for his… a boy growing old at the dining ro… pressing into the pages of one of… the flowers he picked all morning in his mother’s garden, magnolia,…
In the steamer is the trout seasoned with slivers of ginger, two sprigs of green onion, and ses… We shall eat it with rice for lunc… brothers, sister, my mother who wi…
From blossoms comes this brown paper bag of peaches we bought from the joy at the bend in the road where we t… signs painted Peaches.
Lie still now while I prepare for my future, certain hard days ahead, when I’ll need what I know so cle… I am making use
And when, in the city in which I… even my most excellent song goes u… andI mount the scabbed streets, the long shouts of avenues, and tunnel sunken night in search…
He gossips like my grandmother, th… with my face, and I could stand amused all afternoon in the Hon Kee Grocery, amid hanging meats he
Through the night the apples outside my window one by one let go their branches and
There’s nothing I can’t find unde… Voices in the trees, the missing p… of the sea. Everything but sleep. And night is a river bridging
That scraping of iron on iron when… rises, what is it? Something the w… quit with, but drags back and fort… Sometimes faint, far, then suddenl… beyond the screened door, as if so…