What if everything were revealed: where I was last night. You, etc. The rain is coming down like salad. My sister's hair reminds me of my sister so much I can't stop looking. Who am I to have arms? On the plane one short dream: a baby so small it wasn't even human, just a bouquet of light with wise cellular
poem index
occasions
- Anniversary
- Asian/Pacific American Heritage Month
- Autumn
- Birthdays
- Black History Month
- Breakfast
- Breakups
- Chanukah
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- Dinner
- Earth Day
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- New Year's
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themes
- Afterlife
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forms
- Abecedarian
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- Villanelle
schools & movements
- Nuyorican Poetry
- Objectivists
- OULIPO
- Poets of Exile
- Romanticism
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- New Formalism
- Misty Poets
- Modernism
- Modernismo
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- Slam/Spoken Word
- Surrealism
- Symbolists
- Translators
- Victorian
- Metaphysical Poet
- Language Poetry
- Confessional Poetry
- Contemporary
- Cowboy Poetry
- Dark Room Collective
- Concrete Poetry
- Conceptual Poetry
- Augustan
- Beat
- Black Arts
- Black Mountain
- Ethnopoetics
- Fireside Poet
- Harlem Renaissance
- Imagism
- Jazz Poetry
- Kanaka Maoli poetry
- Futurism
- Fugitives
- First World War
- Flarf
- Formalism
- Acmeism
poet
Emily Kendal Frey
Emily Kendal Frey is the author of Sorrow Arrow (Octopus Books, 2014). She teaches at The Independent Publishing Resource Center, Marylhurst University, Portland Community College, and Portland State University. She lives in Portland, Oregon.
by this poet
poem
2011
poem
2015
You might think you are not thinking, but you are.
A thought moves from dirt up through me and if I do not
disabuse it, it grows.
To suffer, to bear from below.
Coming down the mountain I could see a reservoir through the
trees, fat and glowing.
You are alone in your one
poem
2013
In California we went to the dive bar and I lost my wallet I remember falling into it And maybe kissing against someone’s garage I fell on city sidewalks In California and other places The trees looked at me tenderly I’m guessing