Dear ferocious dreamer. Dear maven of song and surveyor of every flung star. Dear meandering romantic, audacious witness, dear listener with the whole of your covetous heart. Dear listener to the air’s brutal and gorgeous music, soft dancer to ballads...
It’s a shame this poem’s already been erased when I go to read it. Like humid air that tugs at my arm to catch what will fall, is falling, and falls. What’s up with erasing? Glue, scissors, and yarn make a shadow of barbed wire....
Words, like weeds, are sprouting everywhere. My mouth and throat are choked with them, wild fairy rings waiting to be gathered and dried. I pick through them and press them between sheets of cheap paper, stuff them into envelopes and mail them out to anyone who’ll have them. I’m...
The spoons have clattered Aren’t children little pears and observant birds I note that the green blanket is askew again briefly I have flung my sweater over the banister again The corn cockle is beautiful For months I’ve owed someone I’ll call Amy Rossini a...
In my language we distinguish sueñu from suañu. The first tethers us to the ground, stuffs stones in our pockets so we don’t get soaked by heavy clouds. The second leads us to summit impossible peaks skipping with joy. There is a moment when the day, gentle, wanes, in which suañu takes sueñu by...
Na mio llingua estremamos el sueñu del suañu. El primeru átanos al suelu, ponnos piedres nos bolsos pa que nun nos mueyen les nubes cargaes. El segundu llévanos a trescombar los cumales inalcanzables con reblagos alegres. Hai un momento, cuando’l día, mansu, declina, en que’l suañu garra de la mano al sueñu y nesi eclipse d’estraña guapura...
how the blood it fit into the body? how the body it fit into the family, and how the grandmother she fit into the blood? how grandmother of me she fit into tongue of her? how gender of her it fit into mouth of...
anak like a sigh born every day ilong lead by scent and know-how tanong asking questions about the world sayaw like how dance that comes from joy sayang can sway so close to sorrow bayan how shame could be an entire country pinto or an open-doored question kailangan needing, needful, and needless ilaw illuminating a path ikaw to you,...
give me a name & i’ll answer whenever a mother calls it out across the park wanting only her child & not some tired queen sitting alone on a bench with a bottle in a brown...
I'm reading John Wieners chapbook, Pressed Wafer, at one of the giant tables upstairs in the archives where I work, when a visiting scholar asks for help with research. And that's how I learn that, in 1882, landscape architects at...