for Jane Mead
I’d want to be
moss, she said—
moss, which greens
where grass can’t—
a softness, a carpet
that doesn’t fly
off, which isn’t
magical, but
simply is
where
she isn’t.
Image: photo by Sven Hornburg on Unsplash, licensed under CC 2.0.
Andrea Cohen's poems have appeared in The New Yorker, The Atlantic Monthly, The Threepenny Review, and elsewhere. Her most recent poetry collections are Everything and Nightshade; a new collection, The Sorrow Apartments, is forthcoming. Cohen directs the Blacksmith House Poetry Series in Cambridge, MA.
Photo Credit: F. Bewer.
Photo Credit: F. Bewer.
Latest posts by Andrea Cohen (see all)
- Coming Back - January 17, 2023