Poems from Mark Goad

Dear Ms. Dickinson

The heart, dear Ms. Dickinson,
does not shatter on the floor
but chips along the edges

sharp, scars of encounters and
fierce collisions. Given time
craquelure appears spidery

across its surface dimming its
gloss, airing age for mere
honesty’s sake.

A stranger may take it in her
hands and think, Oh, how
light it has become

and worn; how beautiful. I
would like to have it
for my own.


Mark Goad is a poet now living in the Boston metro area (USA). Born in Ohio, he has lived and studied in Chicago, Geneva, Switzerland and Boston (with sojourns in Connecticut and rural Nebraska). Undergraduate and graduate studies have been completed in English Lit., German language, theology and philosophy.  His work has been published previously in Assisi, BAPQ, epiphany, Bluepepper, Decanto, Extracts, Crannóg, Ayris, The Wayfarer, Contrary and other literary journals.

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