Stephen Dobyns: Old House

Stephen Dobyns: Old House

So much death in the room but no people–the candles burned down to their stumps,the food untouched, the meat growing coldin its grease. Under the couch, the cat playswith a mole it dragged in from the barn,The mole crawls off. The cat drags it back.If cats could...
Dennis Hinrichsen: One Wing

Dennis Hinrichsen: One Wing

Darkness, then, was the dark wool to my nestof light. I would tip back intothe emptiness beyond my rim of pillowsand let my head drop, my vision weave–a narrow stalk brushing back and forthacross the ceiling. Then, as now,I’d sift the risky valence the...
Dennis Hinrichsen

Dennis Hinrichsen

Poem of Mercy No one poem is enough. Noone poem contains the mercyI seek, the forgiveness. There are nowords that can approachthe tufts of fine black hairon the backs of doctor’s handsas he dialed my home that nightfrom one of the side rooms,then choked, looking...