The Baby Monitor

The neighbor off to the market for bags of salad
leaves me alone with her baby monitor
I’ve set on my balcony jagged with wood

rain-rotted & scarred with yellow paint.
What mislaid dinner plan would warrant
leaving one’s baby in the crackling static

hands of a woman who perches on her balcony
nightly in nothing but stars & the oven
of July, pink as the innards of poultry—

I never owned a baby monitor. Could never
leave my babies long enough to need one.
Her baby sleeps for hours

the mother tells …

from Holloway Letters | Zocalo Public Square • Arizona State University • Smithsonian

from Holloway Letters

[What She Was In For]

You learn not to ask ‘What are you in for?’
but what she was in for was parking on the road
outside her house to get …

What You Call it | Zocalo Public Square • Arizona State University • Smithsonian

What You Call It

Not my usual route to the market—past
the railroad tracks, then past

Grace Episcopal Church,
its courtyard empty—no men

clasping hands as though agreeing,
finally, to the difficult terms

of some treaty—so I …

My Neighbors in Lincoln, Nebraska | Zocalo Public Square • Arizona State University • Smithsonian

My Neighbors in Lincoln, Nebraska

This poem was translated from its original French (included below) by Patron Kokou Henekou and Zócalo Poetry Editor, Connie Voisine. 

 

I have neighbors
at the corner of N 26th & Holdrege:
the …

Antidote for Rescue | Zocalo Public Square • Arizona State University • Smithsonian

Antiode for Rescue

Inside us runs a map of our cells unmapping
in small gulps, a finite road with no rescuers.
 
I’m waving from that dead-end where the weeds
wild and lower …

Portrait of Icarus as a Country on Fire | Zocalo Public Square • Arizona State University • Smithsonian

Portrait of Icarus as a Country on Fire

Can we talk about the wax? The way the wax
would have felt on his skin, slick 
at the first signs of melting, a spreading
warmth that felt so good …