Judith Cofer Poems

We played a hiding game,
the son of my mother's friend and I,
until he chased me into the toolshed
and bolted the door from outside. It was there,
...

Presiding over a formica counter,
plastic Mother and Child magnetized
to the top of an ancient register,
the heady mix of smells from the open bins
...

My name mocks me
for I was born at the cost
of my mother's life,
earning my father's hatred
...

It is a dangerous thing
to forget the climate of your birthplace,
to choke out the voices of dead relatives
...

White-hot día‚ sun burning
muy caliente. I am at my desk‚ windows
wide open‚ working in ink and sweat. Hot talk
...