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Notes Nearing Ninety

At nineteen you were six-foot-two. At ninety-one you will be two-foot-six.

Nothing (Elegy for My Father)

Nothing stills, nothing stops. The world is still as it was before.

Nothing about This Is Epic

It’s cruel to watch my edges crystallize and reflect light.

November

Miriam slept at the ranch often, although little sleep happened there.

Now’s Dream

That what I call my Self is asleep, and has dreamed up these lilacs.

Nuisance Value

He knew deep down that only her ridiculous optimism kept them going.

Number Eight Daughter

“My brother’s last words to me were about you. Did you know that?”

Nurse Lynn Speaks Her Thoughts to the Wind

It’s true, I killed my husband. I had my reasons. He was a hunter on the trail.

Obit

The Village wasn’t really a village. No walnut trees. Just cut flowers.

Object Permanence and Other Poems

The end’s already in motion, the end was starting this whole time.

Occasions of Sin

Goretti was a victim perfect for her time, an icon of Catholic sexual politics.

Ode to Left-Handedness and Other Poems

Fearing for them, I clustered them together, then cut them off.

Odyssey

Today is my favorite kind of day. Night opens, light concedes.

Of Blood and Stem

If I had known I would have saved the abacus from the fire.

Of Kin and Kind

Having a sister or a friend is like sitting at night in a lighted house.

Of the God That Comes to Mind

Relief workers tore swaths of insulation from the rafters of the house.

oh

Doctor Dressler left her a note: Suicide. Back by 7:00. Love, Max.

Oh Father, Your Fear

Is it that he is too tired or too afraid to blink into the oil of his own machine?

Oil

I sometimes have to laugh because even now, as a middle-aged man.

Okeechobee

She wants something red and shiny that always works.

Old Friend

I arrange your five deflating basketballs under the lonely net.

Old Friends

His chest rose and fell softly, in time, it seemed, to the song.

Old Will Road

For days after she left him, he roamed the house, unable to function.

Omnivore

I eat what’s in front of me, as all great men do. Some wouldn’t, but I do.

On the Aggrieved and Other Poems

A man drunk on the damage he made to a boy’s young mouth.

On the Difficulty of Discerning Shapes in the Distance

Warm breath in my ear mouthing a name; rivulet folded back in water.

On the Fourteenth Day without a Father

In its shadow, our mislaid secrets cascade down around us.

On the Horizon

& I said let there be dark pouring from your mouth at daybreak

On This Day in Poetry History

She was gone then, inaudible, steeple-reticent, demure as sky.

One Day

He was reading Our Town. She studied the departure board.