One day, I drove the hundred miles east to visit T at Ironwood and was denied visitation. The clerk told me there was no record of my request. Never mind that I had been visiting my son there every Saturday for five years.
Like an ermine looping through the snow, mouth a pink line, / I’m suited for my habitat.
Reconciling What a Son Remembers
Here’s a lesson: If you leave a hole in the forest, / leave a mouth open in pain, astonishment or grief, / something will come to fill it
No light could work its way into Kelsey’s condo after four, so that’s when she held the baby and checked email. She never received much.
Admit it. This is how you want me, slick where desired, / rough where requested.
The Radical Transformation of Fresh Kills
I remember watching my mother / with the horses, the cool, fluid / way she’d guide those enormous / bodies around the long field
What damage do I do? / The night avoids my eyes, so does the road. / I am never wholly myself, unto myself.
Able only to recall / his parting footsteps—the chipping away at / a tree one fells at last
