Cecilia Woloch
On Faith
How do people stay true to each other? When I think of my parents all those years In the unmade bed of their marriage, not ever Longing for anything else – or: no, they
From Tsigan: The Gypsy Poem
In Warsaw, blackbird girls Swoop down in flocks The old town square A swirl of dark-eyed dark-haired girls In brilliant skirts who circle Laughing at my waist Throw up their arms To beg for
East India Grill Villanelle
Across the table, Bridget sneaks a smile; She’s caught me staring past her at the man Who brings us curried dishes, hot and mild. His eyes are blue, intensely blue, hot sky; His hair,
Burning the Doll
I am the girl who burned her doll, Who gave her father the doll to burn ” The bride doll I had been given At six, as a Christmas gift, By the same great
The Pick
I watched him swinging the pick in the sun, Breaking the concrete steps into chunks of rock, And the rocks into dust, And the dust into earth again. I must have sat for a