Poetry
Poem of the Week
Indifferent day. Sparrow fretting for rain gathers grass and seeds.
Poetry
We are everlasting. A friend is a friend is a friend in a string of lives.
iPoems
For years I thought this light was love, or God, but now I know it’s fear.
Poetry
It could be our baby. Her eyebrow, its perfect arc, the pale blue vein.
Poetry
It was the year we learned to wash our hands. That was one lesson.
Poetry
Instead of stained glass, give us an oil slick on the New Jersey turnpike.
Poem of the Week
It’d only take a slight shift to realize his new world isn’t a danger to him.
Poem of the Week
I don’t remember being born,
only the great dog
whose fur I clung to.
Poem of the Week
The fog’s sheen is a mirror: my mother sees the terrain of the future—
Poem of the Week
Near to closing, he’d flop down in the chair to count his moldy money.
Poetry
You can tell by the walls whoever lives here doesn’t want to be seen.
Poem of the Week
I found a lodestone & I went to the creek & I buried it in the creek bed
Poem of the Week
Translucent white prayer strings of her bonnet trailing in the air.
Poetry
The beasts and fowl and all manner of slithery thing can love like us.
Poem of the Week
My world must not be made of brief encounters along the neat squares.
Poem of the Week
You must not be afraid of what waits after death, my past self says.
Poem of the Week
I am almost never standing in the ocean, not that way, not anymore.
Poem of the Week
Florence’s cobbled streets spoke like a broken wheel, a halfhearted
inferno.
Poem of the Week
A branch breaks and the body lands the wrong way. Snapping is easy.
iPoems
He began singing, the words to a song that played from hidden speakers.
Poem of the Week
A pie can’t go to college, work hard for the grades, two jobs on the side.
iPoems
This belief. This clinging-to. Vanity. Like painting the wind’s back.
Poetry
How can we go on believing each day won’t be the one that flames out?
Poetry
She whispers all these rocks burning up in the sky can’t be a good thing.
Masterpieces
I see the garden far away in itself reflected in the polished spade.
