selected past writing at 42opus
Stay yet, my friends, a moment stay—
Stay till the good old year,
So long companion of our way,
Shakes hands, and leaves us here.
Oh stay, oh stay,
One little hour, and then away.
& if he died I would hold love
in the cracks below the heart, a caged
hand waiting to enfold its animal…
What if you were three mad sisters
who lived at home with your mother
who hates you? Oh, you are?
Well, then, no wonder you are pregnant
and homeless on the streets of Minneapolis
with your cold glass globe containing the Mysteries.
4 December 2007 | poetry
They couldn't get her to stop doing it. Crusts of bread, leaves of boiled cabbage, twenty-six grapes, flour in small plastic bags choked with red twist ties. They couldn't get her to stop doing it until she stopped doing everything, and after that it wasn't long until the end. Half bananas browning in their peels, dollops of sour cream in drawers, potatoes in slippers under the bed, red beets bleeding through the pockets of her pale yellow bathrobe.