Ireland
When did I find the music
of another open-window autumn?
I’ve left more vodka empties near
the wardhouse dumpster.
Read more
Jesus is Coming
The tapping of the shower is
the insistent brush of reeds
along the Charles and the slap
of oars I’ve just left.
Read more
Marcus
It is not that I miss you now
but I miss it—when I
swallowed your finger the first night
and restrained myself in deference to
Read more
My Father Comes to Me
My father comes to me
his hand scrapes on the door
that he opens to this bedroom where I am still,
not sleeping but waiting for his hair oil scent to reach me.
Read more
Drama Queen
The week they turn off your phone,
I wait in your car while you give quarters
to a pay phone mounted on red brick
at a convenience store.
Read more
Night Fires
Family sentinels, we watch flames grab scrub oak
roughly on the shoulder of our dysphoric mountain,
shiver as three firs’ tired arms collapse in slow motion
silence.
Read more
