and I keep in touch with you’re pissing me off you’re pushing my buttons I’m not interested in rescheduling Listen! Do you hear that? That’s my tongue licking a laceration, a bloody metacarpal, a fracture; that’s my nasal baritone, my UUUUUU unfurling your foothold. Wolves keep in touch, and I with my keen sense sense…
Rusty Bickers went walking through the fields at dusk, Rusty Bickers with a sadness and nobility that only Joseph could see. Joseph dreamed of Rusty Bickers at the kitchen table, eating Captain Crunch cereal before bedtime, his head low, lost in thought; Rusty Bickers, silent but awake beneath the blankets on his cot, his hands…
A blackish hue clustered at our heels. You were in the mixed woods which meant I was in the same mixed woods. I kicked up the floor. Needles littered the lower air in standing dust, our shadows dotting the dirt mound sloped unnecessarily away. I peeled back in drying nut husks, upturned trunks of living…
They are big fans of horror film. In the fading light of a November afternoon, The gray surface of a pond Looks like a movie screen to them. The moving branches reflected in it Are like the fingers of the blind Groping to touch the face of someone Who’s been calling out to them In…
I’m driving my aunt Sarah’s Lexus, taking us to the meat place. We pass farms with pastures full of Holsteins and green trees. Weeds fill the ditches. Beyond, in the woods, are deer, raccoons, and skunks. Sometimes, driving on the road, I see them try to cross. Sometimes I see a carcass. I used to…
for all the horses I didn’t get to ride the years of my girlhood in Montana. I wasn’t Terry Jo, the last child and only daughter of a rancher whose spread lay deep in the sheepland steppe, forty miles south of our little town. Terry Jo, whose mother, like all the ranchers’ wives, moved to…
The graveside prayers and eulogies over, A stray dog came to bark at us among the headstones As we trooped back over a hill watching The wind lift the widow’s skirt higher and higher, While the undertaker ran after us, Waving an umbrella someone had left behind. We couldn’t help but think of our friend…
Before Edward stood and pointed his camera toward the table, Kelvyn hadn’t noticed the way that the glass top held the islands’ Bible-blue sky and the fat white puffs of cloud. That Edward noticed made her happy (she knew that the pictures he’d shot of her back in their adjoining cabins were of an entirely…
Sometimes I read pages of books without retaining anything. I am thinking about my own drama and caesura until I come across a word like creosote, which seems familiar but I have to look up. When I go to the dictionary, I realize I am wondering who will bury me and where, going over the…
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