by Joeseph Milosch | Jun 3, 2022 | Poems
During the first spring after your passing, I looked out our bedroom window at the orange tree. As it blanketed our bed with the odor of its blooms, I recalled the times we used to lie in this bed on the weekend in the afternoon. I remembered how you liked the smell...
by Joeseph Milosch | May 31, 2022 | Poems
During the first spring after your passing, I looked out our bedroom window at the orange tree. As it blanketed our bed with the odor of its blooms, I recalled the times we used to lie in this bed on the weekend in the afternoon. I remembered how you liked the smell...
by Joeseph Milosch | May 31, 2022 | Poems
Under an overpass, a sleeping bag is shaped like an upside-down U as it drapes over a shopping cart, containing shirts, pants, boots, and bags of bottles. Dripping from the bag, water puddles. His dog drinks. A man leans against his basket. He peers through the U that...
by Joeseph Milosch | Mar 2, 2021 | Poems
Why is a scar on a man a mark of distinction, on a woman a mark of disfigurement? I don’t know. Why is it funny when a man loses his hair and tragic when a woman loses hers? I don’t know. Could you make love to a bald, headed...
by Joeseph Milosch | Feb 13, 2021 | Poems
Dragging my palm along the table’s edge. I slide my hand against the grain. A sliver breaks beneath my skin. “What have you learned from your mistake?” Look at the damage you’ve done by moving before you think,” Dad points out a crack...
by Joeseph Milosch | Feb 13, 2021 | Poems
Now She Will Bend Away Timor mortis conturbat me (William Dunbar)* Now she will bend away to lift and shake her skirt. She holds it up in morning light as if she looks for holes a moth might leave or threads loosened by the movement of her hips. As bees come to the...
Recent Comments