Poetry
Winter 1998
The Loom
My daughter called me shit, “Shit, shit, shit, shit!” For that, I slapped her face. So now I am a shit. Gasping and trembling we rolled over the rug that […]
Poetry
Winter 1997
America Forgetting
I love its history, America forgetting, the way a woman's body must refuse imprinting the violent contractions of childbirth in order to produce another child. My family, for instance, assumed […]
Poetry
Winter 1997
Gifts
for Jane Kenyon If I sent you the black T-shirt with a star, silver as your precious heart or its Hickman device with ports for glucose, blood, the chemo infusions, […]