For sci-fi poetry, from The Best American Poetry 1997, guest editor James Tate, series editor David Lehman.
from Backing into the Future / by Dick Gallup
It’s like the doors
Suddenly fret open & I am deep underground
With Ted Berrigan and we both have an intense
Distrust of the future we are looking forward to
For men and women, from The Best American Poetry 1997, guest editor James Tate, series editor David Lehman.
from Back in the World / by Ai
I begin to paint, first a black background,
then starting from the left side,
a white line, beside a red line
beside a white, beside a red,
each one getting smaller and smaller,
until they disappear off the edge of the canvas.
For the eagles and ravens, from The Best American Poetry 1997, guest editor James Tate, series editor David Lehman.
from The Exaggeration of Despair / by Sherman Alexie
and this is my father, whose mother died of tuberculosis
not long after he was born, and so my father must hear coughing ghosts
For the galaxies, from The Best America Poetry 1997, guest editor James Tate, series editor David Lehman.
from Strip / by A.R. Ammons
how am I sagely to depart from
all being (universe and all — by
that I mean material and immaterial
stuff) without calling out
For children, from The Best American Poetry 1997, guest editor James Tate, series editor David Lehman.
from Her Body / by Daniel Halpern
the smallest finger poking the air, pointing toward the first heat
of the single sun, pointing toward the friendly angels
who sent her, letting them know contact’s made.
For angels, from The Best American
Poetry 1997, guest editor James Tate, series editor David Lehman.
from That Cold Summer / by Nin Andrews
When the feathers
became more plentiful and blew around the rooms,
I swept them out the door, and they rose and drifted
like earthbound clouds.
For requests of all shapes and sizes, from The Best American Poetry 1997, guest editor James Tate, series editor, David Lehman.
from No Sorry / by Catherine Bowman
Do you have any scissors I could borrow? No, I’m sorry I don’t. What about a knife? You got any knives? A good paring knife would do or a butcher knife or maybe a cleaver? No, sorry all I have is this old bread knife my grandfather used to butter his bread with every morning. Well then, how about
For upstate New York, from The Best American Poetry 1997, guest editor James Tate, series editor David Lehman.
from Feminine Intuition / by Stephanie Brown
After the picnic
I said, “She reminds me of Little Red Riding Hood.”
My husband said, “Yeah.”
We were doing dishes.
I can’t say some other things, so I say this.
For Turlock, from The Best American Poetry 1997, guest editor James Tate, series editor, David Lehman.
from Asylum / by Herman Fong
One afternoon, outside their farmhouse,
we sit on crates and smell yams
swelling in the warm earth.
For summer, from The Best American Poetry 1997, guest editor, James Tate, series editor, David Lehman.
from The Sky Drank In / by Gillian Conoley
The sky drank in sparrows making lucid the oaks.
The shadow dropped beneath the stair.
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