Cindy Veach – Rose of Jericho
I’m not sure about this gift. This tangle
of dried roots curled into a fist. This gnarl
I’ve let sit for weeks beside the toaster
and cookbooks on a bed of speckled granite.
says I’m boring.
“Everything you say
is boring and like
so seventies.” Her mother
says I’m wonderful, though.
Rae Armantrout – Made Short
Like us, the quanta
spend most of their time
Rodney Jones – LXXXIII (Chanterelles)
Black trumpets, whale-colored pamphlets, or shingles, or ears, book-
marks of the netherworld, breakast food of the box turtle.
For a long time, she could not find them, hovering just above them
the way an inanimate lamp will hang blindly above the lucidities