The Pain by  Laura Kasischke   Like the human brain, which organizes The swirls and shades of the bathroom tiles Into faces, faces With expressions Of exhaustion, of disdain. The Virgin Mary in the toast of course But also the penance in the pain, and the way My mother invented Plums and tissue paper, while My father invented the type of Sudden kindness That takes you by surprise When you've expected to be chastised And makes you cry

Letting Go

The Neighbors

by Jack Ridl

Sometimes they
go outside, maybe

move a rosebush
to the back yard or

clean a window.
Usually they

simply stand,
under a maple

or in a snowfall.
And this is often

when they see
a nuthatch on its

dizzy route down
a trunk, or

the quick flick
of a chickadee

across the yard
and onto a branch.

They don't do
much. That's for

others. They know
how to take things

for granted, know
what to miss.

Every morning
they make breakfast.

And when the sun
sets, they let it go.

rhubarb in spring

April Chores

by Jane Kenyon

When I take the chilly tools
from the shed's darkness, I come
out to a world made new
by heat and light.

The snake basks and dozes
on a large flat stone.
It reared and scolded me
for raking too close to its hole.

Like a mad red brain
the involute rhubarb leaf
thinks its way up
through loam.

Undone

Yours

by Daniel Hoffman

 

I am yours as the summer air at evening is
Possessed by the scent of linden blossoms,

As the snowcap gleams with light
Lent it by the brimming moon.

Without you I'd be an unleafed tree
Blasted in a bleakness with no Spring.

Your love is the weather of my being.
What is an island without the sea?

Birth of a Poem

Birth of a Poem 
C. P. Cavafy
(transl. by Daniel Mendelsohn

One night when the beautiful light of the moon
poured into my room . . . imagination, taking
something from life: some very scanty thing—
a distant scene, a distant pleasure—
brought a vision all its own of flesh,
a vision all its own to a sensual bed . . .