Sanctum
We need only hold ourselves / poised— / as waiting is more than withstanding
Story in a White Diction
in spite of the garish death of his second wife / who fell from their lofted master suite onto a crystal decanter / and not, as local bloggers have suggested, the other way / around
Indian Summer
One last peek in the rearview mirror, one final glance beneath cars, behind bumpers. What had been different this time? Had the boy been in his blind spot?
Rock Salt and Rabbit
June 1969. Quang Ngai Province. Vinh An, a village at the mouth of Song Tra Bong. The days were sweltering, leaning into each other like unbathed bodies.
Not Trash Day
Once at IHOP there was a woodstork / walking past the window and we watched the cook / out the back door give it kitchen scraps./ Was it being taken care of?
I’ve Been Trying to Feel Bad for Everyone
when my brother had another episode / and stabbed his wife, I said to my new lover,/ disorder, genetic, and he never yelled at me / again.
After Dreamland
Emmet realizes he’s been holding his breath and lets it go slowly, fixing his gaze on a rock in the distance to avoid the dog’s eyes and any suggestion of a challenge. “C’mere, boy,” he says calmly. And calm is how he feels. Something in the other boy’s anger has stilled him.
Portrait of a Family, Crooked & Straight
My mother and father didn’t want to dance with each other at this wedding—and they wouldn’t—and there would be no portrait from this wedding of the father and the mother and the two daughters together, no portrait for my wall.
Live from the Scene
It’s not so bad once you get used to it—
August’s algal bloom on the farm’s
manure lagoon
Japan
photo by Jeff Clover Dear Japan, Dear Ambient Author, Dear Oh, Dear Trans- figuration Boy, Dear Chemical Girl, Dear Fiber of My Fire, Dear Big Red Scarf, Dear Halloween Buoy, Desire and lists. The idea of me—that hash-marked outline that universally precedes me by mere moments—writes this to you. I trust it to say everything […]