Voices in American Poetry
Summer 1984
Lacking Sympathy
My father fishes the red sun down, October, a kind of concurrent posture, a live oak living where it likes and falling for no reason. Over the pond the geese […]
Voices in American Poetry
Summer 1984
The Jay
My wife says he simply flew before he had to, late at night. He’d flown onto the porch and, confused, flew into this poem. Stared actually at the pitch that […]