poetry – Page 6 – PSYCHOPOMP.COM

Eight Synonyms for Shroud, by Laura McPherson

In the bitter of November, the inside of the house waited.A knock: a visitor, leather jacket hung with motor oil […]

the same way I hold wounded things,the bird with the clipped wing,the dazed moth,scalded in search of light—I run my

In fields corn is blooming, embers burning, gilded sea of spun glass. My father points out the car windowto rattle

I’m standing in the middle of the road, in the middle of the night, with the deer.The darkness and the

I rained my grandfather’s ashes onto the dark lapping Yamuna,and in a breath they filled the space between spume and

No one thought she’d go the way she did, miredin car smoke, no death note. She lived a badlife, died

Dida does not know deathhas planted her spine in an egg carton that someone willforget on a windowsill until winter,

Summer has comein waves of pollenand exhaust heart-cut rhinestonesin the eyesof velvet fawnshidden in the shadeof wood geraniumand mandrake snapping

Philosophy and Poetry are not bedfellowsThey are beds.The toaster is a marvelous thing.How many dead toasters fill the land? A

After “Here I Am” by Martin Espada She slides into the Hammerstein Ballroom, gorgon at a monster’s bash, styling and