Author: Michael Schmidt

I help her carry a soaked couch down the narrow stairway, and it’s a violence, what her face does to stop tears. She glances at her son, asleep in a carrier on the passenger seat, asks where will we go,… Continue Reading →

with Linda Pastan in mind Because of what happens in the dark because of walls and night-lights because trees drop their leaves ………….into me like clouds their rain ………….into the waiting ground and also because there is no cure for… Continue Reading →

My breathing sounds like cold glass breaking. His absence is a hand resting where the window was in a car that goes gentle into the general traffic of my body. I’ve lost the map, but sometimes there is a horse… Continue Reading →