Category Archives: from hera’s fire

Soft basket (edit 2)

A basket slung over my shoulder by leather straps, its belly shaped like a plum, wove of three kinds of grass — thick-striped — holds a stone, a shadow-self that comes and goes, places where I touch the ground, a … Continue reading

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Soft basket (edit 1)

A woven-grass basket slung over my shoulder, shaped like a plum but larger, holds a stone, a shadow self that comes and goes, some places where I touch the ground, a river, a sea, a hot-metal sun, a frigid moon … Continue reading

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Simple (edit 4)

I’m blots of ink, a line or two, a supergirl you draw from inner sight. Now split the paper with your pen to find my comic heart.

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Simple (edit 3)

I’m simple in your hands — black ink on paper. Supergirl in skintight garb, your pen’s the blade that finds my comic heart.

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Simple (edit 2)

I’m simple in your hands — black ink on paper, supergirl in skintight garb. Your pen? A knife that finds my comic heart.

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Clouds, like Toledo (edit 3)

Riding south, across the river, a mile below the Bridge, see? A tower and forested hills, with leaves glowing in nooks in the bare, smoky trees, as if someone’s been shooting paintballs there, and the wind shearing the earth to … Continue reading

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Clouds, like Toledo (edit 2)

Riding south on the Major Deegan, across the river, a mile below the George Washington Bridge, see?  The tower, bluffs and an island of tree-covered hills. And today, sun-painted faces of rows of fast- moving, sullen clouds — like El … Continue reading

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Clouds, like Toledo (edit 1)

Riding southeast down the Major Deegan, about a mile below the George Washington Bridge, there’s a heaven of driven clouds, like El Greco’s Toledo. The clouds rise over the river and the hills of Manhattan beyond. On the bluffs, the … Continue reading

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Simple (edit 1)

In your hands, I’m simple now — just fields of black India-ink laid on rice-paper cream, a heroine in skintight garb. There — you’ve drawn a line, an arch where my ribs would be, a stroke to cut my skin, … Continue reading

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Simple

I’ve become simple in your hands. A few strokes of the pen, in simple black India ink, laid onto creamy white rice paper, or Bristol board. I’m as simple as a hand-inked heroine, her garb so tight, you can see … Continue reading

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