#549. Why Do Drops of Water Flatten and Disappear after a Time?

His body so close I hear the cicada hum of his cells, and he slips away.

A Collection of Eyelashes on Paper

My son trims a curtain of lashes, immures them into a stray year.

A Country Doctor

A gravely ill man was waiting for me in a village ten miles distant.

A False Translation of Baudelaire, “Les Fenêtres”

Better to rewrite Baudelaire: The body only exists in the dark.

A Happy Marriage

How different they were; how comfortable he was that.

A Hard Blessing

Alone but one year sober and my parole’s nearly done.

A Heroine’s Primer

Ghosts are real. This much I know. It’s the living that give me trouble.

A Lot Going On Up There

The hawk moves out of the way to let a little hot package of breath rise up.

A Map to Now

I thought my body was mine until it became a map anyone could use.

A Numbers Game

We are in his car. “Bell, I’m starving. Want to go for a burger or pizza?” I panic. Pizza. 285 calories per slice. Burgers. Harder to estimate.

A Real Nice Baby and Other Poems

Royal baby George is tucked in the crook of his mother’s elbow.

A Sailor

She did not leave him for the sailor. So why should he be angry?

A Separate Set of Signs

Is she dreaming of the rivers soft with codling in her hometown?

A Serious Desert

All over the planet people try to end pain: striptease, bee stings.

A Small Blip on an Eternal Timeline

I grabbed him by the face and told him life only comes to a person once.

A Small Hotel

The allure of Mardi Gras is to feel this way: unseen and unseeable.

A Soliloquy Would Imply That the Stage Is Empty

A father peeled the night / from another midnight & begged / me to lie

A Son of Baghdad

For me, Selweh was the real magic. She was nothing like my mother.

A Sport and a Pastime

She is complaisant with all her clothes off. She moves to his touch.

A Storyteller’s Story

Americans have always a kind of tenderness for cheat.

A Theory and Other Poems

I have, in the long solitude of my body, asked for something else.

A Walkabout in Andrew Wyeth’s Painting and Other Poems

My bike, my skinny body, my pent breath was thrown to the grass.


We are going south where I know that my father is going to die.

Across the Sea: A Sequence

The stones here carry the island’s low cry inside them. A landlocked grief.

Addendum and Other Poems

The animals are dying. All the beautiful women are dying too.


I’ll see you on the sea, they say, but then they float past on a raft

Affliction Parish and Other Poems

He tuned the future backward as he left the ringing water to reclaim me.

After It

I sit next to a man I never loved but let kiss me wetly for two months.

After Music

“I’m torturing you,” she said. “It isn’t fair.” Now I saw there were tears.

Again, the Body

They taught us do not touch it, but who can keep from touching it?