Colorado State University Center for Literary Publishing


Silent Impacts

Apr, 27 2018 | no responses

I am keenly aware that I look suspicious—a woman wearing a Tyvek moonsuit and waders, juggling a stack of steel posts, fuchsia survey tape, and a rubber mallet. Pickup truck drivers give me you’re-not-from-around-here looks; so do occasional leisure boaters, who I hope to Jesus are not eating any fish from this river. The Bainbrydge River is sluggish, a sulfury, over-hard-boiled-egg green. My steel gauges suck right down into its bottom.

Searching for the Duck Hole

Apr, 27 2018 | no responses

My mother started calling me about a year and a half ago. She is in her late eighties and suffers from cognitive decline, so she does not remember that we haven’t had a relationship for more than twenty-five years. Despite her memory struggles, she figured out my home number and leaves messages on it. The first one, transcribed to include her pauses, looks like poetry:


Apr, 27 2018 | no responses

After my daughter’s birth in 2002, there were nights I sat in the rocking chair next to her crib, understanding that the world would be better if I killed myself. And her. I’d grip the arms of the chair and flex every muscle in my body to stop myself. One night, I walked into the room where her father was reading and sat on the edge of the bed beside him. I admitted I had no feelings—for him, for her, for myself—but that we could be friends; we could raise her together. We’d be fine. Our lives would be fine.

Diving Makes the Water Deep

Apr, 10 2018 | no responses

For Savich, there is no difference between that which is learned in the world and the learning that can happen in a poem; the one aids the other and vice versa.

Surfing with Sartre

Mar, 29 2018 | no responses

The philosophical attitude of existentialism so perfectly fits our time, you’d think it was invented for us.

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