If my mother had not been an alcoholic, I might not have been a poet.
The next morning I rode my bicycle to Wolf Corner where coyotes and dogs were
Hung on a wooden rack to discourage coyotes
Jose Padua’s poems are the twitch of the tail of the cat stalking the mouse of your unconscious.
Word spread across the countryside about the wise Holy Man who lived in a small house atop the mountain. A man from the village decided to make the long and … Continue reading
. My brother who is dying of cancer My brother who is dying of cancer Tells me the time has come To forgive our father because It’s not about … Continue reading
When the soul-sickness takes me And my mind is in an ugly place And I resent other writers their success, I retire to my attic room To look out the … Continue reading
Lea wants to change her name to Tina. Her mother says she must think very carefully because a name has to fit. The wrong name can bind like someone else’s … Continue reading
For Eva The marriage-bed is the center of happiness a point from which all things ripple outward, a nest from which all things learn to fly. It is the … Continue reading
Robert Gibb is a poet’s poet. By that phrase I mean that he’s widely admired among poets across the country, but virtually unknown to the public. He’s published a dozen … Continue reading