By Richard Siken
There are so many things I’m not allowed to tell you.
I touch myself, I dream.
Wearing your clothes…
I touch myself, I dream.
Wearing your clothes…
Explore Poems: Heartache & Loss
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- By SapphoTranslated By Anne CarsonDeathless Aphrodite of the spangled mind,
child of Zeus, who twists lures, I beg you
do not break with… - By Christian J. CollierWe were ravaged by our loss, our child.
In the shower, slightly past midnight,
after I’d covered the … - By Heather ChristleI did not know it was possible (your constancy
being among your chief characteristics)
and I, bereft… - By Ada LimónI pass the feeder and yell, Grackle party! And then an hour later I yell, Mourning dove afterparty! (I call the feeder the party and the seed on the ground the afterparty.) I am getting so good at watching that...
- By Cheryl ClarkeI could use a good ole R&B lyric
right about now to face this hard absence.
Only its terse verse can approximate
the testament.
Or the big arms of “these arms”
circling my wide waist
to close the space
after all the years
... - By K. IverAt my beloved’s burial,
I can’t see his body.
Only carnations. I hear
your name and my beloved’s
in the … - By Kush ThompsonYou will tell your babies, someday,
of the little house behind the wall clock.
They will love most the part about the window
sloped inside a six’s hollow, silhouettes
of Sundays, shadows having dinner.
How they walk along the edges of hands
at night, skipping pebbles... - By Countee CullenIf for a day joy masters me,
Think not my wounds are healed;
Far deeper than the scars you see,
I keep the roots concealed.
They shall bear blossoms with the fall;
I have their word for this,
Who tend my roots with rains of gall,
And... - By H.D.I know not what to do—
My mind is reft.
Is song's gift best?
Is love's gift loveliest?
I know not what to do,
Now sleep has pressed
Weight on your eyelids.
Shall I break your rest,
Devouring, eager?
Is love's gift best?—
Nay, song's the loveliest.
Yet, were you lost,
What... - By John TickhillTranslated By Eric WeiskottIn springtime, chief of all seasons,
in May when new joys rise and flourish,
the sun is lord and messenger at once and sends down to us
to rouse our bodies and be merry:
humankind to... - By John TickhillIn a sesone of somere þat souerayne ys of alle,
Þat was þe myry monþ of May when many myrthys spryng,
Þe sonne ys somnore and syre and sendyth tyl vs doun,
And byddyth vs bisy for to be oure bodys for to glade;
Man for to myrth hym in al maner wys,
Bestys for to buske ham on bentys tyl abyde, - By Salima RiveraDied: Our vows to love, honor, and cherish.
Time: Left suddenly on a bright summer day
Cause of Death: misgivings, duplicity
and lack of faith.
The dearly departed left behind
a discarded lover
who has inherited an estate of left over memories
and a grievous soul.
The deceased... - By Federico García Lorca1.
La cogida y la muerte
A las cinco de la tarde.
Eran las cinco en punto de la tarde.
Un niño trajo la blanca sábana
a las cinco de la tarde.
Una espuerta de cal ya prevenida
a las cinco de la tarde.
Lo demás era muerte... - By Federico García LorcaTranslated By Sarah Arvio1
The Goring and the Death
At five in the afternoon
At the stroke of five
The boy brought the white sheet
at five o’clock
A basket of lime all ready
at five o’clock
The rest was death and only death
at five o’clock
Wind carried off the cotton balls
at... - By Victoria ChangJan.4.2022
A call is just a call. I pick it up.
Jan.6.2022
I lift blankets looking for my father.
Jan.7.2022
When I take off the patch, your eye is gone.
I spend the day in other people’s tears.
Jan.9.2022
Someone says your eyelid almost came off,
the doctors tried... - By Rachel Tzvia Back(1)
In worded a world
how broken
from beginning:
sunburst and blossoms all
subterfuges
of creation ruses
of beauty –
fragrant thicket no less
complicit:
we exist
in a shattered vessel
shards at our bare feet –
Someone’s mother cries out
Stand still or
you’ll get hurt – and
you try hard in the slivered
moment
not to... - By Rachel Tzvia Back1
Dark cedars of dark lebanon.
the ash, the oak.
the elm. O,
the eucalyptus.
The apple (love) apple
(in the empty orchard)
(by the old graveyard)
2
Bone (like shell.
the colour of dry sand):
your breastbone (open
to touch. silver chain)
collar (twice broken.
where you are angles)
spine (a valley. damp.)
This... - By Raymond LuczakYour voice translated me,
a lucid memory.
You videotaped my hands, words.
Now that’s all gone to the birds.
What led you to sign, to grasp?
Your fluency made me gasp.
You turned deaf to others sneering.
Your ears were so used to hearing.
Translate me one more... - By Sara TeasdaleThere is no magic any more,
We meet as other people do,
You work no miracle for me
Nor I for you.
You were the wind and I the sea—
There is no splendor any more,
I...