ARCHIVES, 2012 - 2016

BPR Poetry

3 Poems

This morning the sky takes on the look of one of those inspirational calendars, all illuminated-edged cumulous with light rays stabbing through like purifying swords, His Glory in pastel script right about where my neighbor’s SUVs are parked out back, one black, one silver, miracles of engineering, collecting light and splotches of berry puree from the chickadees singing high hosannahs in the overhanging branches.

3 Poems

In Berlin I said, look, this city was bombed and separated with walls and put back together and here we are, now, we should find the neighborhood in East Berlin where my grandmother lived with a doctor’s family, hiding, learning how to give injections, the place where she decided not to go to Moscow and become a doctor, the only choice she regrets...

2 Poems

Given a year adrift on the cold Pacific, the broken cities arrive crushed, splintered, with all that the water upended and carried out to sea, all that we might gather from the waves washing in to the iceplant dunes along the California coast. So, too, the dead, who float upside down in the silent wreckage...

3 Poems

I want to scream into the hearing aid nestled in his ear, Where is your fist? Thick-throated men in black coats scurry to the windows of the suite, scour the landscape with slitted eyes, estimate the arc of bullets. They move me from one chair to another to another until I am sitting so close his breath sparks moisture on my skin...

3 Poems

Each one starts small and saccharine, / puffed bundles of confectioner’s sugar, / cottony chicks peeping softly. / Then the down molts and they grow. / Feathers fall to the ground, thicken / settling excrement. Sharpened shanks...

3 Poems

She’s playing hooky for the umpteenth lunch / this month, pure lust—blowing the Weatherman, / to put it bluntly. Days when he’s off-screen / he calls and she comes running...

2 Poems

Alien parents tuck their dearest pearl / into a pod, a rocket, a crystal crèche / and launch it into hopeful space. The girl / or boy or multi-gendered child inside / dies in hypersleep; the fuel depletes...

2 Poems

Late November and gusts / rock the oaks to groans. / The living will find shelter: / pygmy rattlers seeking ground palms / for sleep, lizards scurrying / into thorny hiding places, armadillos