ExploreFamily & Ancestors
“I think he does not care for art; I fancy he has not even read Pushkin.”
The almanac tells them when the moon passes into ghost weather.
There was no sense in brushing off or any other civilized thing.
I shoved them one by one, easy as pie yet with care, just shy of mercy.
For my vacation last summer, I visited the Bateer family in Xiwuqi.
My grandfather committed my grandmother to a mental asylum.
Neither blood nor belonging accounted for my presence in Ghana.
Lebanon’s dreams of a homeland were fading with every rocket launch.
The hawk moves out of the way to let a little hot package of breath rise up.
Felicia knew why he was there. He was waiting. Waiting for her.
“Maybe you should leave the rumba to those who know how to do it.”
My daughter’s favorite game is Holocaust. She’s quite inventive.
It was true. We would probably never visit that place again.
I grabbed him by the face and told him life only comes to a person once.
She is very rich. She will leave me everything when she dies, he says.
The stones here carry the island’s low cry inside them. A landlocked grief.
Since I am in my seventies, it is now or never, and I know it.
“I’m torturing you,” she said. “It isn’t fair.” Now I saw there were tears.
Mostly he was in a hurry, so he’d just stick it in and away we’d go.
I’m mourning in the armpits of a lover we once called a family friend.
Devanand Simon was twenty-five when the bodies fell from the sky.
She countered the reverence of his efforts stroke by stroke, tit for tat.
He fell to the floor and begged the gods. The gods were silent.
We have harvested nothing more than the stench of middle age.
It’s just a great big old world with Santa and angels all around.
He was gentle and slow, like a blind man washing dishes.
Poems and stories are the whisperings of angels we cannot see.
she was sixteen, and swimming. she was seventy-one, and soft.
That’s why Mam drinks whiskey. That’s why he drinks whiskey too.
I only feel that here, only here, in this one place, a small rise.