They’ve separated 5,500 children.
No, they’ve discarded them
like cans of Coca-Cola,
5,500 children who reached our shore
like sea foam, salty, crying salt…
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America on the Brink
A More Perfect Union
August 18, 2017
When children by gunfire die,
when the dreamer and the warden clash,
when statues betray the sculptor, we proclaim
This is not who we are.
In Whose Custody the Flags?
January 10, 2017
The flags are at full-staff
Though Jackeline is dead
Of dehydration
And the Guatemalan boy whose name
Has not been released
Is dead
Of the flu—
What One Gives Up
August 16, 2016
My heart has grown docile, less inclined
to thrash about, to strain at the leash.
Maybe that’s the way it goes: We come
into the world like lava, we burn and blaze
and flow, and then cool into something solid
In Polite Society
November 15, 2015
In polite society we hold doors open,
Say thanks and please, wear crisp
Suits when we drop bombs.
In the Shadow of the Alhambra
November 27, 2007
I promised no more poems of that night at the Alhambra, holding hands beneath the moon Lorca once adored, for to dwell on love’s sleight of hand is to risk breaking its spell. It was decades ago, in gentler times, […]