Gail Mazur Poems

Sometimes she's Confucian--
resolute in privation. . . .

Each day, more immobile,
...

The black kitten cries at her bowl
meek meek and the gray one glowers
from the windowsill. My hand on the can
...

The game of baseball is not a metaphor
and I know it's not really life.
The chalky green diamond, the lovely
...

In the warming house, children lace their skates,
bending, choked, over their thick jackets.
...