Poetry

Let us remember liberty was not popular,
six years it took Laboulaye to convince
Bartholdi a gigantic statue was 
what New York harbor needed. Eleven
years later

 Take today. I want there

            to be less
of everything—wind

& worry, of leaves
            littering the ground
& love letters, addressee

Only a torso now, the head
long severed from the neck, pelvis
twisted off like a stubborn root.

I wish we were living
a story of desire, but
I don’t feel Odysseus 
beating out his tale
of longing at the oars

Forever you find

              your father
in other faces—

a balding head
              or beard enough
to send you following

A stifling heat—the air heavy—
and all around the loud, wet forest 
knotting the gaps in its own sound.

A peace long earned, then broken;

Cutting down Chambers St. 

my pinky toenail comes clean off.

Another little ghost 

What if each time
you caused pain
a small, round stone
was put in your pocket
pebbles for inducing
self-doubt

That one smelled 
like a Bradford pear 
you said. 

I followed the shimmer far down a road I still haven’t found 
the ending to.