I have four new poems up at Entropy.
To celebrate my new chapbook, I asked forty girls and women to read from it, and I made a movie. The creative process was amazing. I loved the reminder that although poems often begin as small, quiet things, they grow. I call this meditation-turned-celebration. I hope you like it.
In Turtle Bay, we share dark beer
in slender glasses and toast the dead—
a fedora on a stool, spiked tickets,
a menu with yesterday’s specials.
Bodies and the ghosts of bodies shake
their umbrellas dry in the entryway,
and though the bartender yells,
the door never closes. Anyone
is bound to walk in. A bell rings.
Your face fades, blurs, as if in a photo.
Even as we raise our glasses,
I am already remembering you.
On watching the dismantling of Spencer Finch’s “Lost Man Creek”
[insert sad poem about art here]
The subject’s body rotates
around a particular axis.
to ward off winter
a blanket flush
against the jamb
all the poems
not about spring