Poet Series

Mudfish Individual Poet Series

Poet Series #8
Rending the Garment

Poet Series #9
Vilnius Diary

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Dementia Pugilistica
David Lawrence
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Black Diaries
Jill Hoffman
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Too Too Flesh
Doug Dorph
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Skunk Cabbage
Harry Waitzman
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Husk
Terry Phelan
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Marbles
Mary du Passage
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Fires in Sonoma
Terry Phelan

Robert Grant

Silverware

(after Donald Hall)

Doing the dishes after she died, he was

struck by the weight of the butter knives.

Their cold handles pressed into his palm

as he lifted them from the drying rack

and carried them to the silverware drawer,

where he placed them in their narrow bed.

But it was the spoons.

It was the spoons that made him weep.

Jane Kenyon, photo by Donald Hall

Richard J. Fein

To a Woman Remembered

I will die, just as you will–you and I

unknown to ourselves and to each other,

when ears can’t hear or tongue make sounds.

Even a young poet who longs to lay a girl

as I did you will in time lack everything.

All shapes will disappear from my mind,

even the ghost of you lingering there,

your voice coming down the stairwell,

“Is that you, Richard?” “It’s me.”

Memories, versions, voices come to an end,

the stairs, rooms, buildings all gone too,

you on the third floor buzzing me in.

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