Poetry

Click on the poem's title to download a copy.

My Horatio,

ever practical;

you stay, by will alone,

unconcerned by ghosts

of what should have been.

If you were a caterpillar,

you would fold

inward, inside;

drop your skin

to the bottom

like a robe,

finally private

and naked.

And you would digest yourself....

Gray on gray, the large mirror gathers shapes

in its frame, settling into a dark composition:

Rodeway Inn. The familiar motel room design

fulfills its function: to isolate, to mimic comfort

with its illusion of privacy.

Jonah Scott Mendelsohn