VERNEINUNG

In Belgrade in my hotel room
I return to the self portraits
from the earlier work:

smoking in the tub
while reading
texts on the New Art Practice.

When I step out of the bathroom
and into the music
with no witness.
It still happens.

And when I whisper
into the soft crimson leather
back seat of the parked sedan,
I still exist.

I am here
even when you do not
see me.

I am here
because I say that I am.

The State of Jefferson

Trucks shuffle in the slow lane.
Mt. Shasta’s a crazy white cone.
I drive as fast as I dare.
Car my shelter, my tiny house
of spiders’ nests and trash. …

Erica Goss Wins Zócalo’s Eighth Annual Poetry Prize

Driving Through The State of Jefferson, a Land of 'Few People and a Few Million Cows'

Every Friday at Zócalo Public Square we publish a new poem. Our daily ideas journalism and free public events aim to connect people and ideas, exploring our shared human condition …

Defend the Eastside

The 5, the 101, the 10
Suavecito for President
A funeral procession out of City Terrace
No ICE on the overpass
Just a shot on the countertop
Next to hot …

THE MOUNTAINS AND WATERS OF THE IMMEDIATE PRESENT

When I love another person, after I close the circle I say, “I know that things are not always all the way one way.” This is an idealized tenderness. That …

Arthropoda Californiae

Three weeks after my husband’s cremation
I cancelled the contract
with the exterminator.

Now, I share a home with arthropods.

They teach me to inhabit
hollow spaces. Their movements expand