#AmericanWriters
In your extended absence, you perm… use of earth, anticipating some return on investment. I must… failure in my assignment, principa… regarding the tomato plants.
There were others; their bodies were a preparation. I have come to see it as that. As a steam of cries. So much pain in the world - the fo…
I have a friend who still believes… Not a stupid person, yet with all… She thinks someone listens in heav… On earth she’s unusually competent… Brave too, able to face unpleasant…
Speak to me, aching heart: what Ridiculous errand are you inventin… Weeping in the dark garage With your sack of garbage: it is n… To take out the garbage, it is you…
Small light in the sky appearing suddenly between two pine boughs, their fine needle… now etched onto the radiant surfac… and above this
What does the horse give you That I cannot give you? I watch you when you are alone, When you ride into the field behin… Your hands buried in the mare’s
I became a criminal when I fell i… Before that I was a waitress. I didn’t want to go to Chicago wi… I wanted to marry you, I wanted Your wife to suffer.
There was an apple tree in the yar… this would have been forty years ago—behind, only meadows. Drifts of crocus in the damp grass.
The great thing is not having a mind. Feelings: oh, I have those; they govern me. I have
As a man and woman make a garden between them like a bed of stars, here they linger in the summer evening and the evening turns
There is always something to be ma… Your mother knits. She turns out scarves in every sha… They were for Christmas, and they… while she married over and over, t…
Orange blossoms blowing over Cast… children begging for coins I met my love under an orange tree or was it an acacia tree or was he not my love?
The elements have merged into soli… Spasms of violets rise above the m… And weed, and soon the birds and a… Will be starting to arrive, bereav… South. But never mind. It is not…
The garden admires you. For your sake it smears itself wit… The ecstatic reds of the roses, So that you will come to it with y… And the willows—
In the story of Patroclus no one survives, not even Achilles who was nearly a god. Patroclus resembled him; they wore the same armor.