For fields, the far ones and the not so far, from The Academy of American Poets. The rest of the poem may be found here:
http://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/how-mind-works-still-be-sure
from How the mind works still to be sure / by Jennifer Denrow
You worried that everyone
you knew was becoming the field and you couldn’t help
them because you were the one making them into fields
in the first place.
For President’s Day, from Poetry Foundation, and from a Smith, my mother’s maiden name. The rest of the poem is here:
http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/244378
from The President Flies Over / by Patricia Smith b. 1955
For Valentine’s Day and birds, from poetryfoundation.org.
http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/182920
from Bird-Understander / by Craig Arnold
Of many reasons I love you here is one
the way you write me from the gate at the airport
so I can tell you everything will be alright
For rose palaces and thatchwork, from Poetry, February, 2015.
from Steady Digression to a Fixed Point / by Elizabeth Willis
Dear Paolo, I dreamed I would write this, I dreamed a rose was
coming out of my mouth in the middle of the greatest city in the
world.
For snow and San Francisco, from Poetry Foundation. The whole poem is here:
http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/249750
from A Franc Sonic (or, A Frank Sonic) / by Laura Moriarty
For words, wings, and Kentucky, and from Poetry Foundation. The rest of the poem is here:
http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/243034
from The Darker Sooner / by Catherine Wing
For Sears and Rembrandts, from The Best American Poetry, 2014.
from No Doubt About It (I Gotta Get Another Hat) / by Le Hinton, b.1952
how does a poet
fall back into the sky
For islands and swing sets, from Poetry Foundation. http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poem/249500
from I Found a 1950s “Answer and Color-in Book” / by Jennifer Barber
One day the children played
in the kitchen.
in the cellar.
in the yard.
For idly sweeping up, from Poem A Day, Volume 2, edited by Laurie Sheck.
from “An archive of confessions, a genealogy of confessions” / by Joshua Clover, b. 1962
The tribe of mothers calls the tribe of children
Across the bluing evening. It’s the hour things get
To be excellently pointless, like describing the alphabet.
For drama of the stage kind, from Poetry, December 2014.
http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poem/249118
from Fourth of July 2012 / by Robyn Schiff, b. 1973
I remember
a performance of Antigone. She stooped.
There was a wild particle.
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