For the Lichens
Back then, what did I know? The names of subway lines, buses. How long it took to walk twenty blocks. … More »
Back then, what did I know? The names of subway lines, buses. How long it took to walk twenty blocks. … More »
Hear the author read her poem, originally published in the March 2004 issue of "The Atlantic"… More »
A woman moves close: there is something she wants to say. The currents take you one direction, her another. All night you are aware of her presence, aware of the conversation that did not happen. Inside it are mountains, birds, a wide river, a few sparse-leaved trees. On the river, a wooden boat putters. On its deck, a spider washes its face. Years from now, the boat will reach a port by the sea, and the generations of spider descendants upon it will…… More »
A muscular, thick-pelted woodchuck, created in yield, in abandon, lifts onto his haunches. Behind him, abundance of ferns, a rock wall’s coldness, never in sun, a few noisy grackles. Our eyes find shining beautiful because it reminds us of water. To say this does not make fewer the rooms of the house or lessen its zinc-ceilinged hallways. There is something that waits inside us, a nearness that fissures, that fishes. Leaf shine and stone…… More »
Last autumn's chastened berries still on one tree, spring blossoms seeming tender, hopeful, on another. The view from this window much as it was ten years ago, fifteen. Yet it seems this morning a self-portrait both clearer and darker, as if while I slept some Rembrandt or Brueghel had walked through the garden, looking hard.… More »
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