If you search for “poems about broken arms”you’ll find the words of amateurs,mainly,But who is a pro at this?Are the missing plums from the iceboxA metaphor for the ligamentPulling my bone until it snapped?Snapped,Forgive me.Forgive me? They were soSoSo I’m going to ask you a lot of intrusive questionsAnd I’m so sorryI just don’t wantContinue reading “fractures (with apologies to william carlos williams)”
Tag Archives: poetry
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A pair of fading bruises the size of thumbprintspaint my inner thighwhere you once marked me as yours,though you were never mine. kfw 2024
“If you think I look bad, you should see the other guy.”
Such pains evade the eternally ephemeral—the ones only landing lightly,A brush against a cheek so gentle you’d almost think you’d dreamed it.So soft.So fleeting. We landed too hard this time,The both of us.Left an imprint on your faceScraped your noseSliced your chin, just there. Just so. And me, as much the worse for wearBruised downContinue reading ““If you think I look bad, you should see the other guy.””
“Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani?”
“But I am a worm, and no man; a reproach of men, and despised of the people. All they that see me laugh me to scorn: they shoot out the lip, they shake the head,,,” – Psalm 22:6-7 (KJV) They assemble—day after day—singing, praying, swaying,living spectacles,seeking miracles,signs, wonders,the Holy Spirit pouring downlikefire. In lieu ofContinue reading ““Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani?””
swear no oaths
her schoolwasn’t made for ascetics—you try keeping a vow of silencewhen participation is a quarter of the grade—still, she told herself, “if I can just keep quiet,I won’t talk myself out the door.” kfw 2023
C. × sinensis
The most surprising orangeI’ve ever eatenwas from a street vendor in Londonin 1997. Had I ever had citrus grown in the Mediterranean? My grandfather would send us home from our visits to Florida with mounding bags of citrus from the trees in his yard. Oranges, Tangerines, Grapefruit, I would never eat. My Yiayia and PappouContinue reading “C. × sinensis”
On all the little altars
Where the saints are grāmadevatās,and Jesus, a bodhisattva,I bathe youin my tearseach night.Each dayI scrapemy calloused fingersas I string,string,stringjasmine,marigold,oleander,to adorn your memory. kfw 2022
thrums
and thereare thosemeantfor passing-throughmerelyfor passing-through gentlygentler, still. for passing-throughmy handsholding my handsholdingthemloosely,looser, still. turning and turning and turningevery thread of my love, my love, my loveinto the warp and weft. kfw 2021
abscission
The last leaves fall like reluctant fledglings pushed from the nest. We stood beneath them as they were birthed in the Spring, budding forth a silent audience to our entwined unburdening. Now they rest beneath my feet, holding a hundred and one unspoken griefs; gently releasing them as I walk away. kfw 2021
Proprioception
My body is sore from all the placeswe twisted ourselves into —tangled together across the reclining seat at the end of your sofa. I try this morning to read a book, but my mind wandersto your lips on mine — your breath in mine — its rise and fall and catch —the way you moveContinue reading “Proprioception”
Undusted Corners 