#AmericanWriters
After Adam Zagajewski I am child to no one, mother to a… wife for the long haul. On fall days I am happy with my dying brethren, the leaves…
I want to write you a love poem as headlong as our creek after thaw when we stand
I sing a song of the croissant and of the wily French who trick themselves daily back to the world
January Contorted by wind, mere armatures for ice or snow, the trees resolve to endure for now,
Into the gravity of my life, the serious ceremonies of polish and paper and pen, has come this manic animal
For Jews, the Cossacks are always… Therefore I think the sun spot on… is melanoma. Therefore I celebrat… New Year’s Eve by counting my annual dead.
Because the shad are swimming in our waters now, breaching the skin of the river with their
I married you for all the wrong re… charmed by your dangerous family h… by the innocent muscles, bulging l… weapons under your shirt, by your… the colors of painted scraps of su…
We think of hidden in a white dres… among the folded linens and sachet… of well-kept cupboards, or just ou… sending jellies and notes with no… to all the wondering Amherst neigh…
I have banked the fires of my body into a small but steady blaze here in the kitchen where the dough has a life of its…
1. THE SACRIFICE On this tile the knife like a sickle-moon hangs in the painted air
The gathering family throws shadows around us, it is the late afternoon Of the family. There is still enough light
I am only leaving you for a handful of days but it feels as thought i will be gone forever the way the door closes
What we want is never simple. We move among the things we thought we wanted: a face, a room, an open book
Perhaps the purpose of leaves is t… the verticality of trees which we… as if for the first time: row afte… yearning upwards. And since we wil… ourselves for so long, let us now…