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,
...

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
...