#AmericanWriters
1. THE SACRIFICE On this tile the knife like a sickle-moon hangs in the painted air
Because the shad are swimming in our waters now, breaching the skin of the river with their
I remember what my father told me: There is an age when you are most… He was just past fifty then, Was it something about the trees t… There is an age when you are most…
I want to write you a love poem as headlong as our creek after thaw when we stand
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,
When they taught me that what matt… was not the strict iambic line goo… over the page but the variations in that line and the tension produ… on the ear by the surprise of diff…
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
It was early May, I think a moment of lilac or dogwood when so many promises are made it hardly matters if a few are bro… My mother and father still hovered
The gathering family throws shadows around us, it is the late afternoon Of the family. There is still enough light
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
When I taught you at eight to ride a bicycle, loping along beside you as you wobbled away
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…
Pierre Bonnard would enter the museum with a tube of paint in his pocket and a sable brush. Then violating the sanctity of one of his own frames
We invent our gods the way the Greeks did, in our own image’but magnified. Athena, the very mother of wisdom, squabbled with Poseidon