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Tag Archives: Richard King Perkins II
After a year, the separation ended so she had a yard sale and sold all the trappings of her brief independence. She gave up her lover and her tiny apartment and went back to the stately pillared home her husband … Continue reading
Lawrence jumps out of the poem forgetting to put on a shirt. This is a bus station. Lawrence looks in the pockets of his jeans for a trinket of lost faith. This is a bus station in the desert which … Continue reading
A short note hidden in an ornamental seam, placid for five generations like the tree father found and felled for your box of cedar. A shaving of thought recounting the first hours of marriage, the singularity of your husband’s home. … Continue reading
In the black vase. Beneath the fourth stone of the patio walk. Between leather-bound volumes of Cervantes and Chaucer. In the pocket of a tweed jacket you forgot you ever wore. On the ledge of the cuckoo clock. At the … Continue reading
That object retrieved from the sea which might be love— quite out of place in the arid world, so that if we didn’t know better, we might call it pearl, or doubloon, or even trilobite— but we know it cannot … Continue reading