poems

 

Bad Dreams

Morning’s breath  snakes down my craned neck,  a crisp swirl of whispers ashen and remnant cloud and coagulate alongside my clavicle,  the hush of early-today  sticky warm  and sickly sweet  with dream ramblings that wriggled between unbrushed teeth— their stories dig cavities,  soil crowns.    I feel  sunrise gossip  build cumulus clouds under my chin […]

Read more...

I can’t do that.

(a blackout poem) I stayed home working against progress,  I said nothing.    I expect shaking,  tightening my veiny hands.    Fight back.    The spine  I probably didn’t even have.    Release.    Years I had  opportunities to learn, desire.  Building muscle alone.  I pressed play.    It doesn’t compete anymore.    Shrink.   […]

Read more...

A Spirit Heist

My front lawn has ghost tracks— toeprint indents from phantom feet  and limbs, a remembrance— Ding-dong ditched and vanished in poltergeist play,   veered diagonal from front door  to cul-de-sac,  off the pathway we tiled for propper disappearing acts.    A presence left his impression  in landscaped lines.    A street-facing spirit,  a front garden ghoul.  […]

Read more...

Brooklyn Bridge

Lives I watch  from this twenty-second story  are yoga mats on adjacent rooftops,  sprawled, sweat-drenched and pollen-dusted 8 AM Thursday flow to a playlist of Brooklyn traffic— her body elastic, a figurine from where I peer,  stretching into a workday morning  a bridge,  a salutation.    From this twenty-second story,  limbs rush  to catch trains […]

Read more...

My Mother’s Name (A Response Poem)

My mother’s name resides curbside somewhere between the streets  of 1960s Tel Aviv.    Its childhood coo  a sweet sound,  its short legs swinging playful above Rematachayal sidewalks,  perched on Aba’s porch chair pulled closed to the street to watch the children play  and wave to neighbors  strolling from Shul to Shabbat—   Ednale.    […]

Read more...

Edna (Translation)

by Edna Levy Green, translated by Talia Green   My name,  a gift from my birth by parents who blessed its life— My name,  that I’ve grown into and grown with,  my name in my hands.  My name, loved  by those who loved me and I deserted,  the name  I let slip from my hands.  […]

Read more...

When the Ceiling Falls

What art can we make  from our wreckage, Our astringent rubble?  Pebbles have rattled loose  from our ceiling  under battering from  an overhead storm— they precipitate in shapes,  hail in abstract form,  configure in sharp lines  on our living room floor.  Debris, dislodged  from our rooftop and settled again  at our feet in off-octagons. Bewitching […]

Read more...

Constellations

Think of the constellations— Yankee candles and their geometrics.  Their flickers at funny angles,  too removed from our mouths  to be hampered by our giggling.  Our spit doesn’t go that far.    Think of the constellations— Don’t think of the stars,  think of the sew lines between them.  Sweater threads,  loose and frayed,  but looping […]

Read more...

Trees in October

Are you desolate or free, shedding parts of yourself? Clutching your canopy  until its vibrancy dulled  into sleepy amber,  until its luscious frame withered to papyrus scraps, until its grip fatigued,  and, to your canopy,  the ground looked so wistful,  heaps of its counterparts  huddled together in rest.    Who let go first,  you or […]

Read more...

Autumn

Do you also  stumble over sidewalk cracks?  Hopscotch along  skewed pathways, diagonal lines— your heel grazing raised tree roots, your toes curling over indents of pebbles,  groundwork lodging into your sneaker soles?  Do you also  mind your steps, teeter at stop signs?  Do you carry with you  a crown of leaves when you come back […]

Read more...