on the corner of sky and lamppost. I will look for you so wear your eyes. Wear your face that has slept in curls. I will breathe the tulip scent of your hair and the sidewalk’s soot-lined snow. Don’t forget to bring your delicate feet, those edible toes uncold in your oversized...
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3 weeks ago
December 17, 2014 | 1:37 pm
December 17, 2014 | 12:55 pm
December 11, 2014 | 1:08 pm
November 19, 2014 | 12:00 pm
November 12, 2014 | 1:03 pm
November 5, 2014 | 2:42 pm
This fallen child, whose empty eyes
mourning could not harmonize,
nor the reaching requiem
contain the wood enclosing him
slips from the circled reach of eyes
without a jolt, without surprise,
whose stuttered step has stumbled in
to words that now embroider him.
Published in Blue Unicorn magazine.
October 29, 2014 | 3:24 pm
October 14, 2014 | 1:07 pm
October 7, 2014 | 2:06 pm
October 1, 2014 | 12:48 pm
September 23, 2014 | 12:13 pm
September 17, 2014 | 1:36 pm
September 10, 2014 | 2:12 pm
August 27, 2014 | 11:12 am
August 20, 2014 | 12:30 pm
August 13, 2014 | 12:30 pm
August 6, 2014 | 12:59 pm
July 30, 2014 | 12:51 pm
July 23, 2014 | 3:23 pm
The dream is not so simple — learn what is between
your mouth & God’s ear, feel holy when the ark opens,
know the history of suffering, when it will suffice,
how to chant like the sea breaking against rocky shores,
know all about absence, that a good dish is the experience...
July 18, 2014 | 12:06 pm
July 2, 2014 | 3:50 pm
It’s the same song playing under the sun.
Day after day, a triangle tings
in the back of the band: barely there,
but beautiful as chimes trembling in a breeze.
We quiver, as when finger tips stroke our necks.
The measures flow, pianissimo, lovely —
until, in a shift of pace,...
March 28, 2014 | 3:29 pm
You were at the door with the news
of a life inside and we wept
that April day, the jonquils blooming
late against the wire fence.
We turned the afternoon into a bed,
measured the moving sun with mouths.
We woke in soft rain under street light,
had a sandwich and milk, and...
March 12, 2014 | 3:54 pm
Somewhere the jaded go
in search of authentic
experience — code
for poverty and bright beads.
I do not need the famed liquor
to convince me of essential
Here, the first synagogue
in the Americas: yellow
in the Punda part of town.
Floors of sand as they had
in Spain and Portugal to muffle
the sounds of worship.
Patty Seyburn’s fourth collection of poems, “Perfecta,” is forthcoming from What Books Press in 2014. She is an associate professor at California State University, Long Beach.
March 5, 2014 | 11:41 am
February 12, 2014 | 4:01 pm
Answers the size of silence. Tall as tidal winds. The fracture of letters and numbers pulled like wool up to my chin. Grid the knowable world from the sweat of my bed. An empty set. Count the seasons, count the sheep, count the dead. If word equaled father equaled alive again. If...
January 31, 2014 | 10:54 am
January 23, 2014 | 3:04 pm
The Theory of Flawed Design is not a scientifically proven
Alternative to evolution. It is based on the everyday life
Experience that natural selection could not have produced
Such a catastrophic outcome. Optimists and the religiously
Inclined will naturally prefer evolution as...
January 16, 2014 | 2:11 pm
Two eyes, one nose, one mouth, and what could be
more perfect? Maybe the small fraction of
a smile she aims at his glance secretly
across the table, kabbalistic love
that no one else divines, and later in
the loft their silent battle not to wake
her friend down on the couch,...
December 19, 2013 | 12:00 pm
Inside the yeshiva he’s busy naming things
while I, like Eve, watch the smallest movements
in the world — grass bending as if it aches,
a bird that carries lust in its beak.
Through the window I’ve seen him bent over
the text, saliva flying from his mouth
as he reads and...