The Brooklyn Rail

APR 2017

All Issues
APR 2017 Issue




I bought a knife to have a knife. People
kept telling me
you must always have a knife.

They said: you can get one with a handle

carved with rubies
or the rarest pearls—your choice.










Sixteen sugar packets. Yes, I counted.
I am alone
only one lifetime each day.

Yesterday was three earth-bruised tomatoes

the day before
twenty-seven cubes of ice.










Not the vagrant limping into traffic
dodging every
honk and swerve, but the woman

who watches, bites her bottom lip and waits

then draws him up
from the curb when he gets there.










The myths tell us no one wants to cross paths
with a shaman
when that shaman is angry.

They do not say shamans get easily

angered because
no one crosses paths with them.










The doctor says I am too sick to rise.
I fear I will
miss everything. A horse comes

to tell me I’ve missed nothing. He isn’t

handsome but I
crave him: his tension, his neck...









Three Pebbles

Side-by-side an old gypsy places them
on her table
before me: “The black one helps

to remember. The white one to forget.

This gray one is
useless. Carry it always.”








Tony Leuzzi

TONY LEUZZI's books include the poetry collections Radiant Losses, The Burning Door, and Meditation Archipelago, as well as Passwords Primeval, a collection of his interviews with twenty American poets.


The Brooklyn Rail

APR 2017

All Issues