A Poem in Craft of Care Anthology

 I am grateful to Charley and Claire for selecting a poem of mine to include in the Black Pear Press Craft of Care anthology. "A Recipe for Parenting" is on page 2.

Craft of Care 

Best Literary Translations 2027 nomination by WLT

 I had word today that World Literature Today has nominated my translation of Mónica Ojeda's poem [And Mama Told Me] for "Best Literary Translation of 2027. Huge thank you to Daniel Simon for this honor.

Two Poems from Ecuador

Two Poem Translations in World Literature Today

The November issue of World Literature Today includes two poems in my translation of Mónica Ojeda's Historia de la leche (2nd edition @Candaya in December).

World Literature Today

 #xl8women

Ways of Translating a Poem in The Somerville Times

I have a new poem in today's Lyrical Somerville.

Thank you, Doug Holder!

Ways of Translating a Poem

Also on dversepoets

Day 8008 (Bloomsday)

Day 8008

I roll off the same bed

–grandparents’ wool mattress-

you were carried from naked

in a long black box

the young men struggling

down the four long flights,

your absence still palpable

in the sticky Barcelona morning;

in the bookmarked

Cien años de soledad;

in the table I write on, scarred

in the long ago move, refinished

by the carpinter who replaced 

the floor your chair scratched up,

whom I wave to on the street

every now and then.

 One of my very favorite online poetry journals, Atrium Poetry, has published a poem of mine today.

A Couple of Sundays

Thank you to editors Claire Walker and Holly McGill.

27 Years & Pájaros de Barro

 OR We Are Now in The 27 Club

Pájaros de Barro

Hoy son pájaros de barro que quieren volar –Manolo García

Our hands met in the thick clay

of providence’s two-tongued river.

We made a dam in our haste –

birds of clay from sanctified waters.

Our hands entwined and we carried

those clay birds to the sea; the beach

blew its white sand over us all –

a blessing, a bonding, a benediction.

Our hands wrenched apart – drought

in our two-tongued river drained

the sea, left you dry, me full of salt

water our clay birds could not drink.

Our hands turned into my hands which

have held our clay birds up to each

rising tide. I hold them again, feel

your touch as they empty my hands.