Tina Cane

Tina Cane is a poet, teacher and founder/director of the program Writers-in-the-Schools, RI. She hails from Hell’s Kitchen and downtown NYC and now lives outside of Providence, RI with her husband and three children. Her work has appeared in many journals over the years. Most recently, her manuscripts have been finalists in contests such as this year’s Dorset, Berkshire, First Book, Sunken Garden and Snowbound prizes–all from Tupelo Press.


IN THIS ORDER by Tina Cane

    nebula     Jupiter     a dozen dead cannons plus a silhouette on an opposite inlet of Maeve steeped in fog and her own thoughts branch in hand a beacon in a wool vest     soft-edged she stands over an ocean blank of fish     […]


ANCHORS by Tina Cane

    Maeve knows two types: Stockless & Classic as in the tattoo with stock shank arm and fluke     an anchor is a tool     an anchor of stones works too     boots are anchors as are legs and trees and rocks and chins and tongues […]


(souvenir) FOSSIL by Tina Cane

    if not summer camp then Cape Something where sunshine hid in sand till eventide exposed its streaks between Maeve’s fingers on the phosphorescent dune those distant afternoons the beach studded with men young and free from curves or moon pull     the shifts that dimmed the vital […]


A WALK TO THE JETTY by Tina Cane

    the walls are aqueous tonight half-light a brew of medusa shadows     hours mulling the story once read of a girl who wakes after six months of rain and deserts her island home     again Maeve sees her marching on the clay road of mangroves past […]


LUST by Tina Cane

    mostly water Maeve contains also the tingling urge to swim eyes nose mouth ears     smeared as anemones across salt-lick skin     a school of legs arms of paillettes as a kid she floated on her back in the local pool     lids pressed shut […]


Sirens by Tina Cane

I. I’ve been meaning to tell you that the skin around her eyes was thin with blue veins fanning out like ferns     that she was pale for a Puerto Rican and that she spit and threw change at my feet as I waited to cross the street to tell you […]