Poems | The New Yorker
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Poems

“Marigold”

“I have the sun’s eye one minute— / the next, I’m going to bed with it.”

“The Bath”

“The spider, like some cave-dweller, so transparent / she could be a lens.”

“The Call to Worship”

“I prefer a theology of silence, the eschatology / of the shrug.”

“From ‘Heritage’ ”

“I was born in the month of the Blood Wolf Moon.”

“Theology”

“I thought gravity was a law, which meant it could be broken.”

“Radishes”

“Did something in your cultivation change, / or does sensation wane with age?”

“Crossing Byways”

“Did I hear someone say / ‘Lord, have mercy on me’ / among shadows of green?”

“Hail Mary”

“As in Hello, which is as good as any beginning.”

“Laundry”

“Who can watch a child and not feel fear / like static in the background or a tinnitus you try to ignore.”

“Second Nature”

“I lived / An invisible life.”