mother

I wonder if this conjuring of my grandmother is what you experience throughout Giving Up the Ghost: A Daughter’s Memoir — if we create the image and persona of those who are not present because our establishing of their voices allows us to analyze a part of us we are otherwise unwilling to confront (i.e., an unwillingness to move on and heal). 

Ricocheted Into Our Better Selves From the field a moose leads by example—crossing the road, returning, pacing, waitingfor her slick-born calf, all long-legged maybe.Cars pile...

Cistern In every raindrop,a ghost. In every ghost,a throat, emptied. What drains:a body, tide by tide—appetite,then thirst. Air scissors throughto trickle. Her current runsthrough me, then salt in my mouth, ears.In every...

A Helping Hand It’s winter and my mom’s standing in the kitchen of my moldy flat in the outskirts of Greater London, chopping Romano...

By the Pound This poem is so starved it doesn’t know where to begin, so it opens with my mother’s rubber “fuck cancer” bracelet too baggy on...

After the Prescribed Burn at Little Pine Lake For days wisps of smoke slow ghost it all along the still water’s ember edge. I watch...

It Can Also Mean a Type of Fish Language is made with sounds and symbols. An X suggests an ending or anonymity or place treasure is hidden. Meaning requires...

My Mother as Anticlea, Upon Forgetting I will have traveled all this way only to have you forget   my name, to stand on something like a threshold...