by Deborah Bayer | Mar 16, 2023 | Chapbook Poems, Poems, Poems (2016-2020)
Identity for Alex Tall enough to get her bag easily from overhead, She’s in business class, one of the first to stand. Her gray jacket and dress make her feel poised. The matching opaque pantyhose are size Q2. The Mary Jane pumps have the tiniest of heels. Chunky jade...
by Deborah Bayer | Feb 23, 2023 | Chapbook Poems, Poems, Poems (2016-2020)
Death Rattle Back when five and dimes still made black and whites, I loved the cloudy bubbles made by pouring soda over brown-syruped vanilla ice cream. Today, the ShopRite-brand Dark Roast is bitter without complexity. I donate the open-but-full can to my...
by Deborah Bayer | Feb 16, 2023 | Chapbook Poems, Poems, Poems (2016-2020)
In Situ Even before I open my eyes, the light in them is orange, as red buds give way to masses of pollen and pale new leaves. The changing foliage makes a filter for sunlight through the glass: amber, pale green, then emerald. This tree and I have traveled a...
by Deborah Bayer | Feb 2, 2023 | Chapbook Poems, Poems, Poems (2016-2020)
The Heart Doctor A massive MI, myocardial infarction, happens on a plane from London to LA. The woman doesn’t know her distress is a symptom of her heart. The pastor says, lift up your hearts, and we say, lift them to God. Everyone else was amazed, but...
by Deborah Bayer | Nov 10, 2022 | Poems, Poems (2016-2020)
A Brief History of My Life as a Coyote I’m not cóyotl, the Aztec trickster, the death decliner who succeeds through failure and holds the way open between the worlds. I come from that original deceiver, Prometheus the clever, who got caught. He paid with pain...
by Deborah Bayer | Nov 3, 2022 | Poems, Poems (2016-2020)
Each Image Makes Its Way The wall between us is semi-permeable, merely a membrane. It would be translucent if there were light here. We are cells, the tiniest units of her and we are alive now, revitalized. We endured the chemo while our faster growing sisters, the...
