Sonnet for a newborn now seven Underground we were, below the citadel, my son, newborn, asleep on my chest. On the streets above, Italian flowed like mother’s milk in heat. […]

ISAAC —after Czeslaw Milosz’s poem Should Should Not A father should not lay his son upon an altar, should not listen to all he is told. He should not wander […]

Poem for my younger self I hid my poems from her. Stuffed them under my mattress, into my pillow case. Mother scoured my room for them. I tucked them into […]