and I keep in touch with you’re pissing me off you’re pushing my buttonsI’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 extirpation…
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 hueclustered at our heels. You were in the mixed woodswhich meant I was in the same mixed woods. I kicked up the floor. Needleslittered the lower air in standing dust, our shadows dotting the dirt moundsloped unnecessarily away. I peeled backin drying nut husks, upturned trunks of living trees,massive, deeply split. A bird…
They are big fans of horror film.In the fading light of a November afternoon,The gray surface of a pondLooks like a movie screen to them. The moving branches reflected in itAre like the fingers of the blindGroping to touch the face of someoneWho’s been calling out to them In the voice of geese flying overhead,The…
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 ridethe years of my girlhood in Montana.I wasn’t Terry Jo, the last childand only daughter of a rancherwhose spread lay deepin the sheepland steppe, forty milessouth of our little town.Terry Jo, whose mother, like allthe ranchers’ wives, moved to townwhen snow closed the ranch roads,so her child…
The graveside prayers and eulogies over,A stray dog came to bark at us among the headstonesAs we trooped back over a hill watchingThe 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 friendLying red-faced in his pricey new…
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 caesurauntil I come across a word like creosote, which seems familiarbut I have to look up. When I go to the dictionary, I realizeI am wondering who will bury me and where,going over the time I was almost hit…
No products in the cart.