Sandra Alcosser Poems

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Auntie lies in the rest home with a feeding tube and a bedpan, she
weighs nothing, she fidgets and shakes, and all I can see are her
knotted hands and the carbon facets of her eyes, she was famous for her
pies and her kindness to neighbors, but if it is true that every hat

In Touch With A Smoothing Iron

Yellow with water stains,
wine, carpet-beetle droppings,
sweat in, cried in, just plain tired—
I have taken an old dress,


Some days he'd rub two pegs together
until they made a greasy hum
like rain, the sound of moles
grawing the dirt's grain, the song

Michael's Wine

Winter again and we want
the same nocturnal rocking,
watching cedar spit
and sketch its leafy flames,

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