“Will did not know what to say, since it would not be useful for him to embrace her slippers, and tell her that he would die for her . . . it was clear that she required nothing of the sort. . .” –Middlemarch, George Eliot
Yet why not embrace her slippers?
Why not risk the possibility
Of saliva trickling upon satin
Or tapestry or whatever blessed
Shoe covering one might wear
In a 19th century novel weighing
In at 4.2 pounds, 852 pages? Continue reading
I am making some cards and card booklets for Valentine’s Day for my sister’s shop. So I have been composing little love poems to put in them. It’s a bit hard to write a love poem nowadays. Everything has been said. Or has it? Continue reading
It was in that time
Of the reddening leaf,
The dot-matrix dance of the grackle,
Sun fade and found hours,
That we met, Continue reading
I have completed my first exhibit in the museum. It is called Marginalia—and it was inspired by Billy Collins’ poem of the same name and made possible by a 1928 textbook called Selections from English Literature. This textbook, which I bought in a Salvation Army in Bartlesville, around 1998, is littered with marginalia written by its owner, one Irene Chaffee. Continue reading
You don’t need to love the old man.
Just move his boots out of the way
so neither of you trip over them.
Ask the cook to send the boy out
to find the leeks he likes the best.
Move the curtain on the bed a few
inches to one side, clip it there.
Turn away when he coughs
and the sputum slips out his mouth. Continue reading
LancelotThe apple trees are pregnant with misted fruit,
dangling like the locket holding your hair,
which I keep in memory of that pursuit,
lost in a love, without I cannot bear.
I have walked across the fields to find you.
I have shuttered my heart to the world’s gaze,
made ready the clasp for you to undo,
made still my heart that is yearning to blaze.
Where are those who still demand this is wrong?
Who see only betrayal, not love’s proof?
I contain operas, not just one song.
Love does not abide by a single truth.
Yes, I am joined to him and know my vows,
and I will love you as long as flesh allows.
–Shaun Perkins
When I return to you, I will remember
My life before the mountain. I will soak
The western wind, the dark musky nights,
The fall, the trials, and those who played
A part all together in the river
Behind our house where I spent
Those days you were not real to me.
I will never pull them out,
Never clip them to a line to dry,
Never fold and put them away. Continue reading
Eros walked into the room like he’d forgotten
How to fly; like his wings had been left behind
In some other girl’s bedroom, some other girl’s
Backside. He walked into the room like hey,
I’m just trying to meet you where you are at.
Let’s make it happen. But avert your eyes. Continue reading
On the ship, we watched whales sound,
the rise and fall, the spray plunging into foam
Into something new. We have not spoken,
But we are watching the same scene.
I stood behind you as you spoke to the crew,
As you gave instructions, the muscles of your back
Rising as you took in air, shoulder blades creasing
The material I wanted to touch. You knew I was behind
