I, too, am a bit Obsessedwith my own wind-tossed turning, compass wheeling. My feet go barewhen allowed – when the sun but not the Frost – The spinning jig exhausts as All borderson being lost. Now is the time for the fainting couch – Gentlemen – drag it in and Iwill drape my limbs just … [Read more…]
after “Unidentified Portrait” by Christopher Murphy, Jr., 1937oil on board A revolution restsbehind his eyeswhere the tears ofmothers sleep A mind to explorethe world that didn’task for him brims be-yond his jagged hairline He sits patientlylike sand waiting inan hourglass or likea Mona Lisa smile yet he’s ready torun all day andnever get tiredrun straight … [Read more…]
My Mother’s Mother (Speaks) For years, I forgot how to laugh,and the mirror smiled back like a stranger. My tongue swam like leaves in hot tea,the silence burning at my mouth. Homeless, I live with my daughter,the smallest one, hard as the earth. The one always running away:from her marriage, her country, her home. Run … [Read more…]