There are old subway tickets taped to my refrigerator. One still holds three trips’ fare left over from a visit with you. I think of all the time holed up there, all that steeled thundering…
Browsing Category Poetry
Gertrude Stein’s Poodle
She. They. They call. They call and call. They call me Basket. Come, Basket. Good Basket Darling, cher, sweet Basket. Ce qui est la Panier? We play. But I am. I am more. I am…
Antitheticality
When I died I had a self reminder on the back of my hand. I forget what it said now, but it was something like, Don’t forget that thing you are supposed to remember. My…
Coveting Apertures by Sarah Schubmehl
To be a man. to be two men, together. To feel absences filled— hard pressure, thrusting pain— to take pleasure without fear of fullness, without fear of my womb, without the threat of a body…