Dana Levin Poems

Six monarch butterfly cocoons
clinging to the back of your throat—

you could feel their gold wings trembling.
...

Through shattered glass and sheeted furniture, chicken
wire and piled dishes, sheared-off doors stacked five to a
wall, you're walking like cripples. Toward a dirty window,
obstructed by stacks of chairs.
...

You wanted to be a butcher
but they made you be a lawyer.
...

I say most sincerely and desperately, HAPPY NEW YEAR!
Having rowed a little farther away from the cliff
Which is my kind of religion
Adrift in the darkness but readying oars
...