Rachel Todd Wetzsteon Poems

Meanwhile, meanwhile used to be my limp's
accompaniment. Meanwhile (as my legs
maneuvered an abyss), a ballet is
...

On sullen nights like these
when my spirit counts its woes like pearls on a string,
you bring me armfuls of spare pantsuits
...

The strings, as if they knew
the lovers are about to meet, begin
to soar, and when he marches in the door
...

If walking, like wine, only abets a sad mood
let's try it, I said, and I did:
over these hills that have never known sorrow
...

I hate the travel logs that tell you
more about the pain than the place,
yet here I am again, narrating
...

When the wind invades the treetops
and the trees agree, shivering
take me, take me, when their
...

Maggots in the food, maggots in the floorboards,
maggots in the recurring nightmare in which,
lying down with a rugged adonis,
...

Because I gazed out the window at birds
doing backflips when the subject turned
to diamonds, because my eyes glazed over
...

We had gathered under a tent in the park
for some words before lunch and after separate mornings,
and when—twice—the poet said "capital,"
...

The park admits the wind,
the petals lift and scatter
like versions of myself I was on the verge
...