#AmericanWriters
All afternoon my father drove the… between Detroit and Lansing. What… I never learned, no doubt because… though he would grab any unfamilia… and follow where it led past field…
Iron growing in the dark, it dreams all night long and will not work. A flower that hates God, a child tearing at itself, this one
The sun came up before breakfast, perfectly round and yellow, and we dressed in the soft light and shoo… our long blond curls and waited for Maid to brush them flat and pl…
Rain filled the streets once a year, rising almost to door and window sills, battering walls and roofs until it cleaned away the mess
Last night, again, I dreamed my children were back at home, small boys huddled in their separa… and I went from one to the other listening to their breathing —regu…
“Hill of Jews,” says one, named for a cemetery long gone."Hill of Jove," says another, and maybe Jove stalked here
Hearing of the death of Larry Levis this past May, Jane Cooper, one of my oldest (and surely my dearest) friends in poetry, wrote me a consoling letter, one that...
Three boys down by the river search for crawdads. One has hammered a spear from a curtain rod, and head down, jeans rolled up to his knees, wade…
Dawn. First light tearing at the rough tongues of the zinnia… at the leaves of the just born. Today it will rain. On the road black cars are abandoned, but the…
Remember how unimportant they seemed, growing loosely in the open fields we crossed on the way to school. We would carve wooden swords
Can you imagine the air filled wit… It was. The city was vanishing be… or was it earlier than that? I can… the light came from nowhere and we… This was years ago, before you wer…
Is it long as a noodle or fat as an egg? Is it lumpy like a potato or ringed like an oak or an onion and like the onion
He tells me in Bangkok he’s robbe… Because he’s white; in London bec… In Barcelona, Jew; in Paris, Ara… Everywhere and at all times, and h… He holds up seven thick little fin…
The little girl won’t eat her sand… she lifts the bun and looks in, bu… coated with relish is always there… Her mother says, “Do it for mothe… Milk and relish and a hard bun tha…
Unknown faces in the street And winter coming on. I Stand in the last moments of The city, no more a child, Only a man, —one who has