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Category Archives: Poetry
Nemo poëta
And in short, I was afraid —Prufrock I had tasted them all. The low offerings that dangled over fences like a truce: in spring, the soft avocados, the shameless mango, naked as a crime, in summer, the loveless opal and … Continue reading
The New Dead
What do we do with them now, these new dead? Where do we put them? How can we keep them company in the remaining earth, too full already with our living— Christ, with our dead? How do we launch their … Continue reading
wingless
summer swoons, bats her lashes at the wind, and we skip rocks on the sidewalk, watch them melt like the plastic chairs on our porches. school’s out so we skim magazines and pretend like we are somebodies. shoes off, eyes … Continue reading
Don’t Call Me Middle Class
I don’t see how someone looks at me and musters the gall to say that I am middle class; I am clothed in blue- black skin here in the United States of America with childhood memories of sewer rats on … Continue reading
Heteronym
In the ‘Singles’ restaurant, I catch myself in the sheen coming off my neighbour’s dinner plate: I’m a magnet in search of iron; a bird of paradise stripped of its feathers. Once I could wax up my ears, tie myself … Continue reading
Salutations from the Inside
alligator jawed – that sinewy snap realization that after all this time two wrongs do make a right and other stories whispered by seashells (who have since gone mouthless) like the movies or good pain or you have potential which … Continue reading
How to Never Forgive Yourself
Replay the night when your worst nightmare gained a pulse and grew two legs that refused to stop running towards you. Tattoo the word ‘Death’ on your wrist twelve times, so whenever you go to check the time you know … Continue reading
Fire Ant
walking past the statue of our founding slaver the gears and cogs inside me keep it down to a low hum, rise up to a steampunk clanging screech when we pass the food basics where bananas are 49 cents a … Continue reading
Cheating Myself
When you gave me that token of your affection I must confess I used it to take the subway uptown to meet up with someone who didn’t love me as much because it’s been taxing with you always asking how … Continue reading
This is Not a Suicide Note
This is not a suicide note. I am king of the tiniest things. Are there colors we can’t see yet? Has anyone named this war? The luster of pearl in the Lens of my eye Like a fleck of gold … Continue reading
Synecdoche, Los Angeles
“How long will I live?” This is grace. My signature scoops the meat of the paper. So food is only synecdoche in the company of the gods. I shove it all together and just start cooking. Dinner is ready around … Continue reading
Beauty just Means there is Something at Stake
A line of melody struck out from summit. The second song ever sung, a reflection of Eve in the lake like an echo, animate Eden, alien verbs breathing, sun-drop eyes too far-gone to mention, glowing as a million redfish cut … Continue reading
Barefooted & Breathless
You’re all ghosts at 3am. So when my tiny love came at 3 I was concerned. (Who is this girl you say you love and comes to you in a fog?) I’m barefooted. Breathless, she probes the space in shadows … Continue reading
Last Call
—The Cobblestone, Dublin, Ireland This is the place that is the poem This is the place you don’t care that your colors don’t rhyme the length of the lines awry and free angsts in squirming stitchings successive visions foisted upon … Continue reading
To invoke invisibility
Be born in a place that will become a war in thirty-six years. Remain as it festers. Molt three children, very young. Lose them, bury them in your backyard. Choose a border to cross. When the war’s rattle becomes louder, … Continue reading
[haiku]
darkening silence bends into our night talking halting our answers Roberta “Bobby” Santlofer (1943-2020) was a mother of sons, an avid reader, and a poet. A posthumous collection of her poetry is forthcoming.
Windy Fall Night
The lines in this night sky are oval going a bit gaunt, & the ghoul speaks shrilly at the very bottom then the sound catches the branches and brown leaves. A cackling sound follows and continues as the wind learns … Continue reading
Speaking yesterday
Perspiring mists seep into exposed skin at the shore’s brow. Speech argues with the folds in a forehead. Stunted breaths pause at the cliff’s edge, sending skidding rocks that announce the distance to the waves. Their imprint dissipates beneath steely … Continue reading
In the Fable
One character exemplifies restraint, his shadow touches the world, not heavily, not pulling on the air. One character comes from the land of the dead. He is made of organs again, and joy. Bird-loud, tilting at the small specks nearest … Continue reading
The Second Fall
i. This is the desert of patience and perspective. It shimmers with misdirection. Stars burn in waves of loss, imply to silver skin that they are cool. Colors move in their different speeds, some beating and sweating, some not. Colors … Continue reading
Third love
The offer to pack up, come home again, comes with the usual deterrents, those archaic stirred-up memories: of hymns and after-sermon sheet cake, the dull scrape of plastic forks on paper plates and talks with almost-strangers on the state of … Continue reading
Funeral in Mainz
My mother’s foster mother keeps a glass- eyed, stiff collection of stuffed bears. About half wear ruffled collars just like Shakespeare, or Queen Elizabeth without airs. She stores ice cream sandwiches in a box inside the freezer, and after dinner … Continue reading
TATE
what happens when you come across a postcard of a naked woman in a museum gift shop? you make the purchase with your eyes trained on the marble floor, guilt gnawing you the whole way home. you hide the secret … Continue reading
Pelage
A prowl through a familiar neighborhood like passeggiato in the old country, your overcoat with the pelted neck over your arm, despite the heat. You once claimed to feel emotion like a great spasm, intense and intermittent. An inconvenient thing … Continue reading
Water Stories
Most days a name that coats tongues – a conversation crumb, ever-present on lips, might be the story of whoosh-spray and wiper blades, a child’s bank holiday face pressed up against car window. Or the desert wanderer, divining what never … Continue reading
