by McKenzie | Apr 29, 2011 | Reading
Don’t say Paris No one says Paris anymore. There’s no such thing as Paris, no Café de la Paix, no Titian’s Entombment in t he Louvre or Hotel La Sanguine with amaranth petals on the sheets. Don’t say Paris. When you utter the word I take off my long red gloves. I...
by McKenzie | Mar 19, 2011 | Blog, My Poems
1. You were ill that winter. The flowers in your windowsill caught the flu, their red petals turned yellow against the snow. You remember those. You remember the way their scent changed from rose to lavender. 2. And when Christ learned to walk, you weren’t surprised....
by McKenzie | Mar 19, 2011 | Blog, My Poems
I slept in a shape that suggested sitting as though sitting in a chair all day were not enough. You sleep in this chair, too, dreaming of reflected hen houses and sheep that count backwards, dreaming on their heads in a way that suggests cow-tipping cannot take...
by McKenzie | Mar 19, 2011 | Blog, My Poems
You used to ask me where I left your glass of red wine. I could have told you the glass was on the side table but instead I told you – Wedding rings become inverted – Spider webs attach themselves to those corners as continued vacancies – Then the fields came to...
by McKenzie | Mar 19, 2011 | Blog, My Poems
I know enough to say that I have lived twenty-two times on the eve of my funeral. My lack of pregnancy is what keeps me smaller – the clothes which used to be loose have become transparent with leaves, a globe of birds in the ocean cornering what is left of waves –...
