Aaron Rudolph

Aaron Rudolph Poems

(originally published in Pasatiempo,2015)

There's nearly a magic that surrounds me
when I am not looking or when asleep.
...

(published in the anthology Ain't Nobody That Can Sing Like Me: New Oklahoma Writing,2010)

Pat and I traveled to the city
with all the concrete and buildings.
...

In high school, his friend dragged him feet first
through snow and slush, drunk head
trailing behind, bumping against concrete.
Later at home, his mother cried into a coffee pot,
...

(published in _Sacred Things_, Bridge Burner's Press,2002)


Every things she wants she sees
...

With purple goldfish swimming
on the fabric, they are my favorite
pair. The school of goldfish bulge
eyes, perhaps aware of their placement.
...

What it is, is the crows,
darker in night, lounging on branches,
moving only for the wind. From
a quarter mile away, these birds blend together
...

For all my uncles

Tío Míguel was always the cool uncle,
slapping five dollars in my palm
...

8.

(originally published at The Literary Nest,2015)

It starts with that lean horn
bending toward the moon
...

Aaron Rudolph Biography

Aaron is a poet and teacher originally from northern New Mexico. His poems sometimes explore his Latino heritage and the mutlti-cultural aspects of his home state. He authored two books and his poems have appeared in two anthologies. He won the 2008 AWP Intro Journals Project for poetry.)

The Best Poem Of Aaron Rudolph

Almost

(originally published in Pasatiempo,2015)

There's nearly a magic that surrounds me
when I am not looking or when asleep.
Even in daytime, when the sparrows outside
on the fence jabber for attention, beaks
poised high, their miniscule bodies shaking
from the effort. I wait five beats before
answering her phone call. Before I push
my shoulders out slowly and breathe once, twice.

Is it magical if laughter can stitch
moments together, if a quilt-like line
of stories can almost bring two people
to the same place? I can spend the morning
in my yard watching sparrows, listening
for each break in their song, each small moment
when wind slaps against weeds and a distant
knocking rhythms along like song, like hope.

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