Poetry

bargain | bin

A stranger’s shirt on my back, sweat-sour, I weave a tangled arithmetic through a sea of ink to pawn off dented yellow helm and a pair of blue-stained sleeves for an onigiri.   On the polished arcade floor leaning against a shuttered Westwood you are shamefully out of fashion, on the borderlands of expiry, and […]

Read

Medusa Gets a Haircut

On the one hand, they had been her friends for so long, whispering in her ears, telling her stories, reciting poems, not just the sorts of things you would expect, Sappho and Hesiod, but Auden, Eliot, Yeats—they liked the modernists— and Sylvia Plath, Adrianne Rich— they were eclectic in their tastes. Sometimes they had sung […]

Read

Making Accommodations

  A paper can be folded seven times. Each crease across my origami skin is sharp enough to slice. I’ve tried to thin my bones and sinews, ink myself in lines   so small, so shrinking, safe to overlook— passed between palms, a secret note in school, crumpled and cast into a fire as fuel, […]

Read

Cento for Lagahoos

Who do we think we’re kidding? As if the threshold was the infinitesimal, too— but spirit does linger. Bring honey, a black lamb, two firearms, and a woman’s dress, with the turning of the moon. Soon, I will turn thirty. Hope for the best. Hunting is my living, see, and I take away from this […]

Read

Mourning Becomes Jocasta

It’s complex, this idea of sorrow, this love of my son who is my husband, this one foot after another. Tomorrow is now, yesterday is when, never today. Moments wash away in morning’s mourning. Our children will know the shame of it, the blame of it, but the noose will not. It will work morning, […]

Read

The Body in Revolt

Years ago, they drove a spear of blackened wood through the base of my spine, and when the bleeding stopped my skin grew around it, like bark around an axe left buried in a tree it couldn’t kill.   Why does a tree keep reaching towards the sun— doesn’t it know any other way? Now […]

Read

As if My Flesh was Summer Soil

I make the bed as my mother taught me, smoothing sheets corner to corner, curve to curve, crisp and white, smelling of bleach and the flowery sachets she stuffs into linen closets and cedar chests, as if she could trick those cramped and lightless spaces to bloom. I fluff the pillows, three sharp blows, the […]

Read