Three poems by Mark Granier

  Keys At 18, I wore a bunch of them –– pendants on a leather thong. I wanted secrets to keep, the jingle, the little teeth turning the pins, old tangible symbols. As if I might learn to belong by playing at being warder to a makeshift life: the front door to my first home, ‘Rockville’ (the only one with an actual name); the flat … Continue reading Three poems by Mark Granier