Poem with Milk Pooling Beside an Empty Bed


Because I always visit museums alone & in the posture of Poe
watching his mother die each night her throat bursting
with pig’s blood, on stage,
                                        then the coughs, her lap
filling with berries their redness
of fingertips.


Daniel Coudriet lives with his wife and son in Richmond, Virginia, and in Carcarañá, Argentina.  His poems have appeared in Verse, Denver Quarterly, American Letters & Commentary, Crazyhorse, The Iowa Review, Harvard Review, Conjunctions, and elsewhere.  His translations of the Argentinean poet Oliverio Girondo have appeared in American Poetry Review, Massachusetts Review, Fascicle, and elsewhere.