Lucie Brock-Broido

Lucie Brock-Broido Poems

1. Dove, Interrupted 5/22/2015
2. A Meadow 1/21/2016
3. Carpe Demon 10/24/2017
4. Currying the Fallow-Colored Horse 10/24/2017
5. Extreme Wisteria 10/24/2017
6. Father, in Drawer 10/24/2017
7. Infinite Riches in the Smallest Room 10/24/2017
8. Gouldian Kit 10/24/2017
9. A Girl Ago 10/24/2017
10. Freedom of Speech 10/24/2017
11. Meditation on the Sources of the Catastrophic Imagination 10/24/2017
12. Two Girls Ago 10/24/2017
13. You Have Harnessed Yourself Ridiculously to This World 10/24/2017
14. Carrowmore 10/24/2017
15. Did Not Come Back 10/24/2017
16. Domestic Mysticism 10/24/2017
17. After the Grand Perhaps 10/24/2017
18. Real Life 10/24/2017
19. How Can It Be I Am No Longer I 5/14/2015

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Best Poem of Lucie Brock-Broido

How Can It Be I Am No Longer I

Winter was the ravaging in the scarified
Ghost garden, a freak of letters crossing down a rare

Path bleak with poplars. Only the yew were a crewel
Of kith at the fieldstone wall, annulled

As a dulcimer cinched in a green velvet sack.
To be damaged is to endanger—taut as the stark

Throats of castrati in their choir, lymphless & fawning
& pale. The miraculous conjoining

Where the beamless air harms our self & lung,
Our three-chambered heart & sternum,

Where two made a monstrous
Braid of other, ravishing.

To damage is an animal ...

Read the full of How Can It Be I Am No Longer I

Dove, Interrupted

Don't do that when you are dead like this, I said,
Arguably still squabbling about the word inarguably.
I haunt Versailles, poring through the markets of the medieval.
Mostly meat to be sold there; mutton hangs
Like laundry pinkened on its line.
And gold!—a chalice with a cure for living in it.
We step over the skirt of an Elizabeth.
Red grapes, a delicacy, each peeled for us—
The vestments of a miniature priest, disrobed.

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