Poetry

That’s all I see of her now. The wide open hole that never closes. A tunnel of darkness too dry to enter. No one wants to anymore, anyway. Except me.…

Master Breen poses in the top row, his hands folded across his chest like Cuchulain, the tips of his handle-bar mustache brush his checked cravat. My mother — just a…

It is said that to dance on a graveIs disrespectful of the dead. But now, in the sunlight of late May,The children dance on their great-grandmother’s grave. My mother would…

My mother dressed me in red. A good red winter coat. Red socks to cheer up the plaids. Red barrettes in my brown hair. Later, a good black wool skirt,…

    Heart drums under heart                         Limbs hung               feet flutterkick lungs The head gentles              …

         Her child shall be widowed          in unspeakable ways I dream him a blind or lame Damian paddle-limbed with a thrusting jaw (Why give him…

Sing yourself from the choirs Of the unsung. Who can sing Of you? Gigantic as an apple seed, the first lullaby burning on the bush. Sic your dogs on my…

Sleeping Beauty’s kingdom slept for longer than we have been crying. And didn’t that story begin with the pain of parents and an only child? I am two dead babies…

Your daddy cried first with the sound pain makes– when it’s wrapped up tight, tight as empty, and it still leaks out in gasps and wheezes, with a little choking…

Five years from the time I last saw him I return for a visit mid-September with Michelle and Christy, my two young daughters, to find Nonno continues the practice of…

A candle flickers, Shadows dance erotic on wall, Curves sway, make waves. Cloth is shed, left behind Like skin from snake’s body. Arms and legs weave into Kama Sutra poses,…