How Long Now Since the Mailman’s Gone Missing?

p
o
e
m
s

It’s a sad yellow feeling

like walking into someone else’s childhood.

 

A flickering

inside a vast, black egg:

 

it’s time to go.

The little shops pass

 

wall-less and candlelit

by night

 

and she (who greets you at the door)

her mouth

 

makes a warm cave.

The table’s set

 

for dinner, dear. Yes.

No one

 

will unravel this (your home address) again.

 

 

Danielle Blau’s mere eye was selected for a Poetry Society of America Chapbook Award. She teaches at the City University of New York.

You Might Also Enjoy

Consumption

David Jacowitz


Emile was a paralegal. He knew he’d be a lawyer someday, he’d move up and become a lawyer, with his own office and. . .

stories

Angel and Me

Robert S. Nelson


My radio was playing, and Angel was on my mind. Sammy Schultz and me were stacking hay down on the Harper place.

stories

The Grace of God

Mat Lebowitz

“And then I came in and switched places,” says Blake, “and she thought I was Chris for quite some time and—” “Which. . .

stories

Baffler Newsletter

new email subscribers receive a digital copy of our current issue.

Further Reading

 April 16

“‘Explosion without an objective,’ declared Miles Blundell, is politics in its purest form.’”—Thomas. . .