Colin Dodds grew up in Massachusetts and now lives in Brooklyn, New York, with his wife. Dodds’ poetry and fiction can be found here as well as in a number of periodicals, including Explosion-Proof, Folio, Lungfull and The Main Street Rag. Dodds was touted by the late Norman Mailer as showing something that very few writers have; a species of inner talent that owes very little to other people.
I have fallen in love with winter, / with the day that ends at 3:45 in the afternoon. // with the man striding along the path grasping / a pink plastic bag that glows incandescent / although it only contains dish soap / and the cat food he carries home after work …
...you wonder again about the soul, / Where it hides, where it ventures. / There's always one you have to bring to oblivion...
I wanted to be gray-faced / and hated by the Yankees / in the suburbs past Carleton.
Once he’d made the long, impetuous trip, / once we were there, evening air billowing my skirt / over the Pacific, surf sweeping like brushes over drums, / I knew we’d marry.
I lived by a river with tides unresolved / Under the house a sewer under a wooden board it ran / Sometimes a tapping sometimes a hum in the night like a motor
and I dream of a young woman from Prague / standing beside a red motorcycle as if so much / depended upon it...
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