If you haven’t read my book review on Sierra DeMulder’s newest collection of poems, New Shoes on a Dead Horse, then do yourself a favor by reading it here. Seriously. That girl is one talented poet.
Two years ago, one of my best friends gave this to me:
Just thought I’d share. Awesome, no?
Is up on Treehouse today. Hurrah! Read it here.
by Paul Muldoon
How often have I carried our family word
for the hot water bottle
to a strange bed,
as my father would juggle a red-hot half-brick
in an old sock
to his childhood settle.
I have taken it to so many lovely heads
or laid it between us like a sword.
A hotel room in New York City
with a girl who spoke hardly any English,
my hand on her breast
like the smoldering one-off spoor of the yeti
or some other shy beast
that has yet to enter the language