Michael T. Young: Reflections on Richard Hugo’s Poetry
I believed the necessity
of that suffering world, hoping it would learn not to do
it again. But I was young. The world never learns.
Michael T. Young: Dutch Hex Signs
They spoke a language that smelled of horsehair
and tasted of apple butter and red beet eggs
Michael T. Young: Sitting in the Dark
On the day another black man is shot
I sit with my family watching sparrows
pick through soil warmed in sunlight.
Michael T. Young: Concession Speech
People don’t understand that the road
to concession is paved with denial.
Michael T. Young: Holding My Daughter as We Listen to the News
Because the radio repeats their name
my daughter asks what a Nazi is.
Corona's Jaws: An Anthology of Poetry
Poems by Cynthia Atkins, Jose Alcantara, Judith Alexander Brice, Michael T. Young, Sydney Lea, Charlie Brice, John Samuel Tieman, and Adrian Rice.
Michael T. Young: The Gift
I’m rocked into fields
of a lyrical witness, history rolls over
glittering in sunlight
Michael T. Young: The Monster Under My Daughter’s Bed
During bedtime my little spider monkey
asked what we’re doing about global warming
Michael T. Young: Mulch Baptism
The green folds of hillside
in the distance will open like arms to embrace you,
our soils enriched by the return,
the reminder of who we all are.
Michael T. Young: Cataract
Prayers and wonder in these arches flicker
into smoke and ash, a single, blind beating wing
Michael T. Young: Scrawl
He likes to repeat to himself a phrase from a Keats letter: I will clamber through the clouds and exist. It steadies him like leaning against trees, or brewing coffee … Continue reading
Michael T. Young: Gossip
Wind tore at trees outside the window. Shreds of leaves and bits of twig clicked at the glass all day. There was nothing to be done and little we could … Continue reading
Michael T. Young: What My Daughter Thinks of Herself
My daughter browses a book on puberty.
Michael T. Young: An American Tree
A tree is never just a tree, it’s not just maple, spruce, or birch but always this tree rooted in American soil, its rot peculiar to this latitude and history, … Continue reading
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