In the boulevard before crossing to the front steps, I’m stopped in my tracks and breath. On the porch—the wicker loveseat once your aunt’s, blue shirt, beard newly trimmed—I see you clear as day.
This is no self-pitying record of defeat, but a book of rebirth and restoration, a fact suggested by several poems’ titles: “O Forgiveness,” “Therapy Dog,” “The Art of Meditation,” “Battered Victory,” “Stand Up,” “As I Meditate,” “Learning to Glide,” and “Inner Work.” It is a book of candescent triumph.
Seven schools in twelve years— / my childhood shifted pillar to post.
Congratulations to all of our nominees!
Congratulations to all of our Best of the Net 2018 nominees!
slick with moss and missteps, sways side / to side from the first plop, scarce light / at surface, cove darkened with desire / and suffering samsara.
The airy headroom, where the egg flattens, / that's where you begin.
You’d swear an egg / cracked ever so gently, the white seepage, / yolk rivered to your ears.