Blonde Hair Hides as much as Killed Stories No one comes over and you imagine yourself some squeaky clean museumwith the floors waxed nightly out...

The Thing about Mornings I’ll never forget We slept Splayed on memorial benches Morning dew falling on locks like overgrown caterpillars Crawling to crystallized captivity Your smile Sunrise evaporating what moisture...

Translated from the Albanian by Ani Gjika We continue our celebration of Women in Translation Month this week. Katherine E. Young, Poet Laureate Emerita of...

HUSBAND A handthat reaches out mooring mefrom a night of wind-tossed dreams luring me back to portthis bed our terra firma the heat of his palmthe only thing...

Fishing Poem The grandfather I never knew fished for hornpout in a pond I heard about but never saw. There my mother’s family spent summers, less...

Waiting to Cross a Busy Road I am trying to cross a busy road at a spot with no crosswalk for miles and miles and miles and miles but...

To the Poet—S. K.— on Channel WNET-13 Your unexpected radiance lightens the gloom in Brooklyn. You hunch; you sit by the sea. Rumbling like the rumpled waves, your voice splashes me....

A Kind of Spring The best time to fall in love is when you share your greatest fear with someone who isn’t listening. There’s a decent chance that will...

Vacuum Not a heavy weight, more like carrying around the five extra pounds from the holidays all year. Or maybe more like something one picks up and sets...

War StoryHere is the book with torn pages. Only half remains to be deciphered. And here is the house with burnt rooms, and a few fading photos scattered across the floor. And...