Should You Ask At Midnight (Jennifer Reeser Poems)
What would I do without your voice to wake me? Cor ad cor loquitur, I'm loath to know. Kitsch operas ...
What would I do without your voice to wake me? Cor ad cor loquitur, I'm loath to know. Kitsch operas ...
Send your army home to their wives and children. It is late. Your soldiers are burdened, thirsty. Lock the doors, ...
Imagining you'd come to say goodbye, I made a doll of raffia and string. I gave her thatch hair, and ...
It's a jade branch on the floor, broken in two, love, or a stain raised on the lapped grains of ...
Fold this, our daughter's grave, and seal it with your kiss. For all the love I gave, you owe me ...
In the upstairs hallway, complacent sunlight stings the walls with gold and translucent almond over Turkish runners betraying patterns faded ...
Yellow makes a play for green among the rows of some poor farmer's field outside the Memphis city limits' northern ...
In my dream, Celebrity, four pianos scored the room, and you -- on an antique sofa near two dark-haired innocents ...
Whether the clouds had abandoned Geneva that evening no one can say now, but what I remember are roses bruised ...
I wish I could, like some, forget, and never anguish, nor regret, dismissive, free to roam the street, no matter ...
I'd buy you a Babushka doll, my heart, and brush your ash-blonde hair until it gleams, were Russia and our ...
We're through, we're through, we're through, we're through, we're through and - flanking, now, the edges of our schism - ...
Strumming your polished guitar with long, nail-lightened fingers, where are you now, leaning forward a peasant-dressed arm - lark on ...
She recognizes him at last as Other, not Self. I see her in my mind, hot wax about to plummet ...
This night slip, in his honor flipped inside out - of lace- edged netting - is the color of Shaka ...
Moscow ballet at seven in the evening. You look at everything. You lay your cheek against my shoulder, smoothing down ...
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