Psaltery & Lyre




Maybe the doctor thought                              thus when she ordered / the cesarean, cutting in                                   before Nature could bare / her jagged                                                           red-tinged teeth.


My nephew says seeing a cardinal means / there’s a soul nearby, so I wonder who’s flitting / from the red oak to the neighbor’s fence / to watch us at this vacation house.

Self-Portrait with Elegy

The fish tank / / hummed, as their fish-eyes bulged into two drunk uncles leering at our / see-thru nightgowns, with flammable gills.

The Neighbors

I needed to be a part of something—anything, a neighborhood—a community, glued together like dark red nail polish dripped dried on white bathroom tile, a messy blob of circumstance reborn.

Ode to my great great grandfather’s five wives

so there was debt / and gratitude / / and duty before / ceremony


On my back / my ears underwater / but not / my mouth    my breath tuned / / a strange subterranean –


In the beginning was the station:/metal axis of rails, streamlined / / tubes of genesis

Magpie Visits Saint Lucy at the Convent for Retired Nuns

Legend says it was Waxwings / that plucked out Saint Lucy’s eyes. / She still carries them around on a platter / like an offering of deviled eggs.

Every House Has its Church

On the morning / of my autistic son’s twentieth birthday / I visit bringing cake and groceries / that he will eat alone / and I wonder if his house will ever have its church.

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