Friday, December 26, 2025

Grip By David R. DiSarro


A tiny hand clutching the cord

wrapped around a stillborn

sibling, the survivor’s grip

eventually pulling at pant legs 

in the front parlor, or

pirouetting fingers into fists 

for the school yard. His parents 

spoke in ghost-quiet whispers

around him, soaked themselves 

with whiskey, and sang sweet 

obscenities to each other,

undercover, trying to conceive

of something they had lost.




David R. DiSarro is currently an Associate Professor of English at Endicott College in Beverly, MA. His work has previously appeared in Neologism Poetry Journal, Bending Genres, The Rome Review, The Hawaii Pacific Review, among others. David's first chapbook, I Used to Play in Bands, was published by Finishing Line Press. He currently lives on the North Shore of Massachusetts with his wife, Riley, five children, and two rambunctious dogs.

No comments:

Post a Comment

Intangible By Jenna Restel

One more shot before meeting the floor, sinking into the hardwood.  Sweat from my skin,  spilled bourbon,  and tears all come together.  The...