Julie Suk Poems

Aging through August, the hydrangeas
turn from pastels to brick and bronze,
...

I could make a wardrobe
with tufts of wool
caught on thistle and bracken.
...

His plane was scarcely more than canvas
stretched across board.
Gunned down by a German Fokker onto no-man's land,
...

The dead sift through us
without flesh, bone, hair,
or whatever else the stars concoct
for us to touch.
...

which explains why we shiver
when the heedless stars swing by.
...

At a distance:
seemingly intact piers,
dark recesses, blind arcades.
...

Three a.m., the house a foreign country I wake in,
same language but a different inflection,
a creak on the stair a harbinger,
...