At the Love Feast
Father’s special homily gave Mother
and the choir some rest. I leaned
across Delphina’s lap beneath her arm.
Audio, Awards, Chapbook Prize, Chapbooks, Poems
In America
“Why don’t you go to Japan and ask the cats?” I said to the TSA agent when she asked if
What to Say to Those Who Think You’re a Fool for Choosing Poetry
Tell them yes.
Tell them poetry is what chose you.
Tell them
you had a night, once,
just as they did
White Rabbit
Late, I rush down the stairs. Distraction, tiredness, hunger, an error in muscle-memory, whatever the cause, I miscalculate the steps. My foot dangles, leather-clad toes seeking, yearning for something not there.
On Wednesdays My Father and I Eat at Masala Delight
and it smells like nag champa and vinadaloo.
Our waitress, fresh from Kerala,
wants to be a nurse, smiles
when I say I’ll write her a good review.