Poetry
My daughter in prison plays the piano.She plays from memory, eyes closed,her heart a violin stringing alongas piano notes fall like raindropssoft while cedar trees and tulipsbend to her allure
Take up hammer nails and pine Build one last coffin Name it Oppression
The Haskell Free Library straddles the U. S. / Canadian border between Stanstead, Quebec and Derby Line, Vermont. The border is marked by a line of black tape on the floor of the reading room.
My dear friendyou are wrong to saythere are only stories.
Stories need bodies—larynx, tongue and teethhands to scratch them down
My father keeps samara seedssafe insidesmall matchboxes.
He holds his handout to me,a seed in his bark-like palm.
Sometimes the red symbolon a white backgroundis a swastika on a Sheboygan garage in 2017
To the age of hands and animals laying open the fields,is as far back as I know my family. From a languagethat is my heritage, from a language I cannot readis the marriage record in our family Heilige Schrift.
quantum bits:the either/and/or
particles of beinginstantly transmitted
across space—attraction’s valences
revealed onlywhen observed
LGBTQIA+encryptions
When we turn the earthin our yard for garden,the last tenant’s burials
emerge as bones.Let us say some wordsfor every creature that breathed
The red edge of morning, like a razor,slits the dark. No more excuses. TodayI will be sharpened. I will be moremyself as I would be. No espaliered
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Wisconsin Academy Offices
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James Watrous Gallery
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201 State Street
Madison, WI 53703
Phone: 608.733.6633 x25