#AmericanWriters
I sing a song of the croissant and of the wily French who trick themselves daily back to the world
When I taught you at eight to ride a bicycle, loping along beside you as you wobbled away
My husband gives me an A for last night’s supper, an incomplete for my ironing, a B plus in bed. My son says I am average,
When our cars touched When you lifted the hood of mine To see the intimate workings under… When we were bound together By a pulse of pure energy,
Finding a new poet is like finding a new wildflower out in the woods. You don’t see its name in the flower books, and nobody you tell believes
January Contorted by wind, mere armatures for ice or snow, the trees resolve to endure for now,
We think of hidden in a white dres… among the folded linens and sachet… of well-kept cupboards, or just ou… sending jellies and notes with no… to all the wondering Amherst neigh…
I married you for all the wrong re… charmed by your dangerous family h… by the innocent muscles, bulging l… weapons under your shirt, by your… the colors of painted scraps of su…
Into the gravity of my life, the serious ceremonies of polish and paper and pen, has come this manic animal
I am only leaving you for a handful of days but it feels as thought i will be gone forever the way the door closes
Some say it was a pear Eve ate. Why else the shape of the womb,
For Jews, the Cossacks are always… Therefore I think the sun spot on… is melanoma. Therefore I celebrat… New Year’s Eve by counting my annual dead.
I have banked the fires of my body into a small but steady blaze here in the kitchen where the dough has a life of its…
The door of winter is frozen shut, and like the bodies of long extinct animals, cars lie abandoned wherever
Perhaps the purpose of leaves is t… the verticality of trees which we… as if for the first time: row afte… yearning upwards. And since we wil… ourselves for so long, let us now…