I dreamt my old boss into being.
Twenty years invisible, & here she came,
her unimpassioned face, stone jaw,
tone flat as if mediating some dispute.
The Tilling of Dorothy Day
by Laura Reese Hogan Her swollen hands red in peeling service, dutifully broomingthe floor beneath his feet, beneath his spitting, his foul words, yellowed eyes, beneath his stench and snaking…
Descended into Hell
Skull well-bruised and numb,
near delirium
I choke and praise the Lord.
In the Neurology Wing of Johns Hopkins Outpatient Center
“The boy with his shattered skull stitched
runs his fingers over the bridge
Van Gogh’s rainbow impasto arcs…”
Lydia’s Song
“it’s not good enough for anyone else to hear
just sing and knead and roll and press
my purple pleasure”
Ode to Meditation
“I welcome you in.
Ban the banter.”
Marvels for Fisherfolk
The curiosity of stones
above gray-banded surf…
Villanelle for my Son
You cried because you dropped a butter knife.
Everything I do is stupid and wrong!