The broom man
sweeps up each day
in front of the library—
dreams, hopes, brushed together
with leaves and candy wrappers.
Carrying his broom like a scabbard,
he is a guard at the entrance
of some dark journey.   [Read more…]

Coming from Ireland
the potato brought its pain,
all those it couldn’t feed —
the slimy boggy earth,
all those who said goodbye.

Landing at the market
in our dusty little town,
brought home in a brown paper bag,
it waits for my mother’s paring knife.   [Read more…]

I am driving on that street
that long ago led to a record store.
And it’s raining.
It’s been years since we used to go there
since we strolled down aisles of beautiful albums,
music filling the store
and our lives.   [Read more…]

Raphael
is 22
He has managed to cross the border to El Norte
through a dark tunnel
across the wide field of flowers,
has paid for his safety with a year of saving pesos.   [Read more…]

For Steve Kowit

By Karen Kenyon

Tear open your heart — like a giant purse
it will pour out memories
and yearnings,
keys to doors you will never open.

And you must read the others
who have also dipped into this world
even if in another language
of the soul.   [Read more…]

The spaces inside that poetry fills

By Karen Kenyon

Why I Write

My mother was a pianist, so I grew up surrounded by music and lyrics. In addition,my blind grandfather wrote poems all the time, so writing poetry and being creative seemed a natural thing to do.

During college years I was an Art Major at UNM in Albuquerque (until I married after 3 years). But it was really after something difficult happened that poetry really entered my life full force.

  [Read more…]