( Read more... )

Before I Was a Poet ( Read more... )

It Was 1963, Or 4, Summer ( Read more... )

I want the hushed dorm room again ( Read more... )

I wish my mother would lie to her
On why she is sad. Tell her:
Dementia in survivors is physical.
It cripples, like losing hands
In a freak-accident at the Krakow zoo
After standing near to the lion’s cage.
Like missing playing the piano. Tell her
Absurd fibs to sweep the debris of truth-
Belzec, or, You demand too much from lifeBut each evening ( Read more... )

on the Kindred Avin Ritchie Papers in the Duke University Rare Books Library ( Read more... )

For not writing a poem you wanted once ( Read more... )

BALLADE OF A FIRST LOVE LOST ( Read more... )

“To die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier ( Read more... )

1 ( Read more... )