There in the kitchen, my father,
His mouth overfilling with pills,
Says to me “Paulie, I’m sorry.
I’m sorry, I know what I’ve done.”
And I say “Now you’ve ruined Christmas”
And turn from the shame of his tears. Continue reading “Sestina”
His ghost stole in like the grey fingers of dawn.
I am queuing for a Cadbury’s Applause,
Back wheel spinning, glimpsed through the grocery door.
Jim Crow keeps ravens in his loft.
Not live birds- dead ones,
Taxidermically stuffed,
Poised in the illusion of flight. Continue reading “Jim Crow Keeps Ravens in his Loft”
