#AmericanWriters
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…
Here, as in childhood, Brother, n… And someone has died, and someone… born, while our father walks throu… and sets all the clocks for spring… weighs heavy on my forehead, his d…
Choose a quiet place, a ruins, a house no more a house, under whose stone archway I stood one day to duck the rain.
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
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…
When the wind turns and asks, in my father’s voi… Have you prayed? I know three things. One: I’m never finished answering to th…
Forgive me for thinking I saw the irregular postage stamp of dea… a black moth the size of my left thumbnail is all I’ve trapped in t… There is no need for alarm. And
Tonight my brother, in heavy boots… through the bare rooms over my hea… opening and closing doors. What could he be looking for in an… What could he possibly need there…
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
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…
It wasn’t the bright hems of the… that brushed my face and I opened… to see from a cleft in rock His ba… it’s a wasp perched on my left che… my eyes closed and stand perfectly…
I buried my father in my heart. Now he grows in me, my strange son… My little root who won’t drink mil… Little pale foot sunk in unheard-o… Little clock spring newly wet
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…
That sparrow on the iron railing, not worth a farthing, purchases a… its shrill cries measure, trading dying for being. It’s up to no good,
In the dark, a child might ask, W… just to hear his sister promise, An unfinished wing of hea… just to hear his brother say, A house inside a house,