Category Archives: fall

Staten Island Ferry

Waiting for the Staten Island ferry on Tuesday afternoon, I am overcast and scattered showers. How can I describe it? I left my home for home to see my brother who left home to come home but briefly. There are … Continue reading

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For You, From Here

I cannot do this now. The cat meows in tall grass, Tiny body hungry. Let me sleep on it. Bass moves the brick walls downtown. Meanwhile the pier is full of empty wine glasses, Greasy parchment paper in French fry … Continue reading

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My History in Parts

We took your mother’s car. (Pushed) through bramble across mud and rocks. It ends in a stainless steel kitchen, still slick from high tide. Nothing swallows the hunger, (or ever does) bite through a fence. The outline of an overpass, … Continue reading

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Coming Back From Brooklyn

Every morning I wake To an audience of brick. The house is a crowded place, As all bodies are. And in such sleep the dance is gone hips no longer moved By marionette or drum. What smoke unlocks the roof … Continue reading

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In Silence

I guess there are always a thousand things. In the city, down the mountain, in the city. I didn’t want to throw away a good word, so I reused it on you. It isn’t that I am unkind, you weren’t … Continue reading

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The Next Line

I love hearing you read. I never know the answers before you say them. Something about silence in a poem and I’m home. My mother pulls her robe closer to her body. She is smaller than I am. I tell … Continue reading

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White Tents on Mulberry

7:37 am on Mulberry Street. September 20 or 21, 2012. Some days it’s hard to know what day it is. San Genarro should be over, but the street is still lined with white plastic tents; every block the same variety … Continue reading

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While I Wait

“I’m doing well, but I’ve started smoking again. Being home, you know? Linda hasn’t changed.” I shouldn’t be listening to table 73 for snatches of conversation I can use to write poetry, but it feels like we are serving each … Continue reading

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On a Sunday

I’m falling in love with the sound that the fan makes in the doorway. What kind of woman am I? The shoes fit, the cobbler bangs nails through leather into the four and a half inch heel. If it breaks … Continue reading

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Lower East Side on a Saturday Evening

Most beautiful creature, red pen in hand, tiny cursive bleeding around margins. She drinks her orange spiced tea with cream and sugar. When the printer spits out her outline and she realizes she hasn’t numbered her pages, she sits on … Continue reading

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