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Tag: Andrea Cohen

Shiva

Evenings we sit in the living

room, together. Friday I take

my mother’s slot (noon)

at the beauty salon. Ruth,

who for forty years washed

her hair, washes mine.

We’re all in the desert

together. Your mother

liked the water cold,

Ruth says: news to me.

From a thousand

mouths, our dead assemble.

from EverythingFind more by Andrea Cohen at the library

Copyright © 2021 Andrea Cohen
Used with the permission of The Permissions Company, LLC on behalf of Four Way Books.

No One

after Ani Gjika

No one I love was taken

into the woods and shot,

you said. You said

this in a meadow

of a dress and kept

on talking and all

I saw was a forest,

all I heard was one

clean shot and no

one—toward the dear

clearing—running.

from EverythingFind more by Andrea Cohen at the library

Copyright © 2021 Andrea Cohen
Used with the permission of The Permissions Company, LLC on behalf of Four Way Books.

The Bars Insist

The bars insist

they don’t belong

in prison. We’re not

even bars, they say.

We’re stripes pried

from a zebra’s back.

No one listens—not

the guards and not

petitions. No one

listens until a number

comes along insisting

he’s a man, and

without a crop or

saddle, on seven

stripes rides off.

from EverythingFind more by Andrea Cohen at the library

Copyright © 2021 Andrea Cohen
Used with the permission of The Permissions Company, LLC on behalf of Four Way Books.

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