My First Death: The High Window
White moths rise like steam: dawn
bright as a headache and I'm still
breathing in a birdcage of gristle, tendon --
lawn clippings up my nose, whole except
for an absent molar, my brother dancing
his red yo-yo above my face, singing
his song about the bees, the one that repeats,
the one he always gets wrong.
Friday, September 26, 2008
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Every Child, a Happy Child
Dawn, bright as a needle in the eye. From the corner,
he asks me about the cats in the rocking chair. He asks
me if I can still walk, and how I got the hole above
my ear. I ask him if it's still Tuesday. He asks me
if peanut butter, by itself, is a complete meal and I ask
him where he hid the jar of quarters. He asks if I know
where our parents have gone, and if I know how to make
pancakes. I ask him how he got the scratch on his nose
and why he is still wearing the Bart Simpson t-shirt
from last night. I tell him to check the hood of the car
to see if it's still warm. I tell him to see which shoes
are missing. I tell him not to cut his hair again by himself.
I tell him to open a can of cat food and spread it on the front
porch with a fork. I tell him not to be scared, that the cats
will leave his chair and that peanut butter lasts a long time.
Dawn, bright as a needle in the eye. From the corner,
he asks me about the cats in the rocking chair. He asks
me if I can still walk, and how I got the hole above
my ear. I ask him if it's still Tuesday. He asks me
if peanut butter, by itself, is a complete meal and I ask
him where he hid the jar of quarters. He asks if I know
where our parents have gone, and if I know how to make
pancakes. I ask him how he got the scratch on his nose
and why he is still wearing the Bart Simpson t-shirt
from last night. I tell him to check the hood of the car
to see if it's still warm. I tell him to see which shoes
are missing. I tell him not to cut his hair again by himself.
I tell him to open a can of cat food and spread it on the front
porch with a fork. I tell him not to be scared, that the cats
will leave his chair and that peanut butter lasts a long time.
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Monday, September 08, 2008
I just want to make you aware of two poetry readings this week that should be fabulous and also, what a coincidence, that I am in!
Nuclear Poetry
Featuring:
Laura Bykowski
Geoffrey Dicker
Alyssa Goldstein
Christine Hamm
Ibrahim Siddiq
Afton Wilky
Aaron Wimmer
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
9:00pm - 10:30pm
Elmo Restaurant
156 7th Avenue
New York, NY
--------
The Poetry Brothel
Featuring:
Stephanie Berger
Nick Adamski "Tennessee Pink"
Valzhyna Mort
Amy Lawless
Paige Taggart
Christine Hamm
and a large bevy of other hotties, inappropriately dressed and ready to "perform"
Friday, September 12, 2008 at 9:00pm
Papa B Studios
907 Broadway
Brooklyn, NY
Nuclear Poetry
Featuring:
Laura Bykowski
Geoffrey Dicker
Alyssa Goldstein
Christine Hamm
Ibrahim Siddiq
Afton Wilky
Aaron Wimmer
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
9:00pm - 10:30pm
Elmo Restaurant
156 7th Avenue
New York, NY
--------
The Poetry Brothel
Featuring:
Stephanie Berger
Nick Adamski "Tennessee Pink"
Valzhyna Mort
Amy Lawless
Paige Taggart
Christine Hamm
and a large bevy of other hotties, inappropriately dressed and ready to "perform"
Friday, September 12, 2008 at 9:00pm
Papa B Studios
907 Broadway
Brooklyn, NY
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