Winter
The moths have sewn
another hole
into my sweater.
No Moon, But
I knew it was
the beekeeper
who touched me,
not because she
tasted of honey,
but because she
was unafraid
of being stung.
Wind 101
I took
notes–
the wind
took those.
Openings
Eternity has closed
its doors—good
riddance! I didn’t
want forever
forever—just this
pear tree, branches
backlit & the fruits
I can’t get to.
Gift
I gave her
my emptiness.
She put it
in a locket.
Andrea Cohen's poems have appeared in The New Yorker, The Atlantic Monthly, Poetry, The Threepenny Review, and elsewhere. Her fifth collection, Unfathoming, was published this year by Four Way Books. Other recent collections include Furs Not Mine and Kentucky Derby. Cohen directs the Blacksmith House Poetry Series in Cambridge, Massachusetts, and the Writers House at Merrimack College.