Philip Schultz Poems

You always called late and drunk,
your voice luxurious with pain,
I, tightly wrapped in dreaming,
listening as if to a ghost.
...

My ocean town struggles
to pick up leaves,
offer summer school,
...

Suddenly
everything feels afterwards,
stoic and inevitable,
...

Grandma climbs a chair to yell at God for killing
her only husband whose only crime was forgetting
where he put things. Finally, God misplaced him. Everyone
...