Grace Schulman Poems

Hopper never painted this, but here
on a snaky path his vision lingers:

three white tombs, robots with glassed-in faces
...

Rain hazes a street cart's green umbrella
but not its apples, heaped in paper cartons,
dry under cling film. The apple man,
...

Pardon us for uttering a handful
of words in any language, so cut loose
are we from homes, and from His name that is still
...

"And down and down and down,"
the toddler's mother sings
as he clears every ledge.
...