Three Poems
After the curistes are all evacuated, from my balcony.
I watch the hotel next door bum down.
Water. Man. The fire burns all night.
After the curistes are all evacuated, from my balcony.
I watch the hotel next door bum down.
Water. Man. The fire burns all night.
1. A mother’s lifelong rage. The slow burn
of a wire behind an old house wall, its paper
ornamental to the last, going