Prayer for an August Morning

I, unac­count­ably, love vultures.Shy and over­ly friendly,they’ll care­ful­ly pluck the but­tons from your shirt.No real­ly, it hap­pened to me.Well, it was only one button.Gaining a vulture’s trust takes time.In the heat of a late August morn­ingtry a hose that sprays cool waterun­der their wings and across their heavy chests.Afterwards, glis­ten­ing wings held wide,the vul­ture will … 

Pittsburgh

Pittsburgh A creased wed­ding pho­to­graph of a woman.A Mass Card when she passes.The facts of her life­sup­port no fur­ther conclusions.About the neces­si­ty of ambulances.The man who held her in his child­ish embrace.She is the silence that avalanch­es down toa mute son with too many mothers.Not enough uncles to help put the pigs back­in­to the sties. … 

Anticipation

AnticipationThe man in the moon is sit­ting in his bathtub.His wash­cloth in his hand,he is scrub­bing his left heel.Because tomor­row, he has a date with that skin­ny barista from Ashtabula.Who is sit­ting on her front porch,rocking slow­ly away from Ohio.Looking at him and won­der­ing ifshe should make a wish. Published on The Laundry Line, 11 … 

Lost Girl Sonnet

Lost Girl SonnetMuscles jos­tle against waterlilies.A scab can cov­er a wound for a punc­tu­at­ed year.I am like this some­times— A cat lick­ing chick­en juice out of the bot­tom of the sink.The thing about the past is that the phone always picks up.Random facts nev­er come to mind when you need a ran­dom fact.Of all the …