The Untrustworthy Speaker
Don’t listen to me; my heart’s been broken. I don’t see anything objectively. I know myself; I’ve learned to hear like a psychiatrist. When I speak passionately, That’s when I’m least to be trusted.
Parousia
Love of my life, you Are lost and I am Young again. A few years pass. The air fills With girlish music; In the front yard The apple tree is Studded with blossoms. I
Circe's Grief
In the end, I made myself Known to your wife as A god would, in her own house, in Ithaca, a voice Without a body: she Paused in her weaving, her head turning First
Castile
Orange blossoms blowing over Castile Children begging for coins I met my love under an orange tree Or was it an acacia tree Or was he not my love? I read this, then I
April
No one’s despair is like my despair You have no place in this garden Thinking such things, producing The tiresome outward signs; the man Pointedly weeding an entire forest, The woman limping, refusing to
Odysseus' Decision
The great man turns his back on the island. Now he will not die in paradise Nor hear again The lutes of paradise among the olive trees, By the clear pools under the cypresses.
Poem
In the early evening, a now, as man is bending Over his writing table. Slowly he lifts his head; a woman Appears, carrying roses. Her face floats to the surface of the mirror, Marked
Matins
You want to know how I spend my time? I walk the front lawn, pretending To be weeding. You ought to know I’m never weeding, on my knees, pulling Clumps of clover from the
Portrait
A child draws the outline of a body. She draws what she can, but it is white all through, She cannot fill in what she knows is there. Within the unsupported line, she knows
Nostos
There was an apple tree in the yard This would have been Forty years ago behind, Only meadows. Drifts Of crocus in the damp grass. I stood at that window: Late April. Spring Flowers
The Wish
Remember that time you made the wish? I make a lot of wishes. The time I lied to you About the butterfly. I always wondered What you wished for. What do you think I
Parable Of Faith
Now, in twilight, on the palace steps The king asks forgiveness of his lady. He is not Duplicitous; he has tried to be True to the moment; is there another way of being True
Parable Of The Dove
A dove lived in a village. When it opened its mouth Sweetness came out, sound Like a silver light around The cherry bough. But The dove wasn’t satisfied. It saw the villagers Gathered to
Widows
My mother’s playing cards with my aunt, Spite and Malice, the family pastime, the game My grandmother taught all her daughters. Midsummer: too hot to go out. Today, my aunt’s ahead; she’s getting the
Siren
I became a criminal when I fell in love. Before that I was a waitress. I didn’t want to go to Chicago with you. I wanted to marry you, I wanted Your wife to