Susan Aizenberg
United States


Hit Title Date Added
Spring 1963
Back home from three years' monastery life, working
in Europe, he's in love with these pacific Heights
and genteel streets named for fruit trees that could
never grow here, with Willow Street, especially,
Eleanor Writes She's Reading Rimbaud
I've been reading Rimbaud again & I must confess
that his beautiful nights & scents of vineyards & beer—
his green lindens—all of it—takes me back, a little,
White Cat And Notebook: A Still Life
Rain hushes this February morning,
that same infusing chill
that once entered the slim bones
of your hands, until they ached, flushed
To Vishniac
A Vanished World
If only they'd been purely souls, saints,
or like the ditch weed thriving
against the ghetto wall, could have survived
Far Rockaway
Look: a man is teaching his children to ride
the big waves. Hand in hand in hand they wade out
past the first mild breakers. Icy green fingers
First Sign
Day after day, the fecund, mis-shaped cells
doubled and re-doubled inside her, infused
her blood's unguarded channels and spawned their rank
The Nonself: Some Things She Said To Me
This is Hell, J. says from her hospital bed, and I
don't mean Hell, I mean Hell. Like a comic
lush, she slurs her words, Atavan and morphine
swelling her tongue. Pupils shrunk to motes.
Meeting The Angel
Not as a bird with twelve black wings and an eye
and a tongue for each of us. (Someone dies
each time he blinks.) And not shrouded in celestial
light, a fair-haired castrato. Not as Samael,
In The Show We'Ve Been Watching The Unloved Beautiful
wife is pretty as a wedding cake.
Think Wasp perfection,
Hitchcock's doomed blondes.
Like them, she knows something's up,

Delivering Poems Around The World

Poems are the property of their respective owners. All information has been reproduced here for educational and informational purposes to benefit site visitors, and is provided at no charge...

5/8/2021 8:55:48 PM #