Norman Dubie

Sky Harbor

The flock of pigeons rises over the roof, And just beyond them, the shimmering asphalt fields Gather their dull colored airliners. It is the very early night, A young brunette sits before the long

The Czar’s Last Christmas Letter: A Barn in the Urals

You were never told, Mother, how old Illyawas drunk That last holiday, for five days and nights He stumbled through Petersburg forming A choir of mutes, he dressed them in pink ascension gowns And,

At Corfu

In seventeen hundred, a much hated sultan Visited us twice, finally Dying of headaches in the south harbor. Ever since, visitors have come to the island. They bring their dogs and children. The ferry

for Allen Here, on the farthest point of the peninsula The winter storm Off the Atlantic shook the schoolhouse. Mrs. Whitimore, dying Of tuberculosis, said it would be after dark Before the snowplow and

February: The Boy Breughel

The birches stand in their beggar’s row: Each poor tree Has had its wrists nearly Torn from the clear sleeves of bone, These icy trees Are hanging by their thumbs Under a sun That