Reading Tracey Knapp

  TO THE NEW MOON   Come night. Come sirens and midnight babies born in the backseats of taxicabs. Come moon. You crazy weeping alcoholic, quit drinking yourself into nothingness. Someone’s trumpet has gone missing tonight. Someone is looking for you,...

In a Field, The Absence of Field

  or heart—like breathing, you enter waist-high grasses, the tan of prairie dog, fern, wild lily, & the wind takes you up into itself, your body curves & sways with the grasses, canvas, Magritte of the field & passing. How you ended up here,...

I Treat Your Swollen Ankle

  propped on a pillow on our oversized coffee table, all of our ice packs                    lost in the move, & I try to talk to you about my impending job loss, another poem rejected by a favorite magazine,...