lightning never strikes the same place twice

Just a few years out, Mr. Enver will marry Mrs. Enver. They will make their home two miles from the nearest post office. It will not be an exceptionally nice place, but they’ll like it well enough. They’ll make a living tilling the fields and growing crops for sale, just like their neighbors for miles around. They’ll work outside, and with the sun baking into their dark black skin, they’ll find reasons to smile. The hostility and bloodshed will exist at first only in the far-off distance.

si se cambie

inside, glass and fiberglass keep it warm. outside,
the paper turns red and drifts, earthbound

Every time I look up, the same bright face stares back down

fired from shoprite

my heart beats like the tautest drum
or like the pistons that push the belt along
with the groceries that i must scan

my mother, a house

Hands do what need doing: they see, feel, build, lift, tie, and fold. You know your hands like the back of your hands, and you can probably recognize some pairs of hands, some sets of fingers, as well as you can recognize some faces. Some hands, more distinctive than your own, stick in your mind long after the face has faded. Think about the depths or shallownesses of nails, the widths or slendernesses of knuckles, the taper or parallel of fingers. Some thumb configurations are unforgettable.

haunted house, i mean it

The day after my high school graduation, I moved in with four friends who lived together in an old carriage house on Jenkins Road in New Paltz, halfway upstate to Albany, two hundred miles from home. Months later, on the day we finally left Jenkins, I introduced myself to the landlord for the first time as a friend helping with the move. The lease only covered four tenants.