One had feathers like a blood-streaked koi, another a tail of color-coded wires. One was a blackbird stretching orchid wings, another a flicker with a wounded head. All flew like leaves fluttering to escape, bright, circulating in burning air, and all returned when the air cleared. One was a kingfisher trapped in its bower, deep…
A pot found while digging, slipped out of the soil as a fish is deboned. God is said to have formed man as easily, molding him from dirt as on a potter’s wheel, but what men could you find crossing the borax flats that shine whitely, the air thick with salt and residue of rare…
MASTHEAD Editor Don Lee Poetry Editor David Daniel Managing Editor Gregg Rosenblum Associate Fiction Editor Maryanne O’Hara Founding Editor DeWitt Henry Founding Publisher Peter O’Malley Assistant Fiction Editor: Jay Baron Nicorvo. Editorial Assistant: Reem Abu-Libdeh. Bookshelf Advisors: Fred Leebron and Cate Marvin. Proofreader: Megan Weireter. Fiction Readers: Kathleen Rooney, Maureen Cidzik, Eson Kim, Matthew Modica,…
set out across the fields anonymous, drawn inward like a sea of dusk beneath the cribbed retreat of sun. Remember us against the vinyl in that summer like an apocalypse across the sheetless rising chipped repeat of artificial light of grocery lists wrung. Last night and last night’s last night you cheat the snow, my…
I don’t think the Mayflower’s passengers boarded with any inkling they would be revered. We imagine their journey with clean sails and blue sky, and the galley was probably filthy. Meriwether Lewis finally reached the Pacific after writing those dutiful descriptions of routes and rivers and new species, and just carved his name in a…
On Nuar Alsadir: It is my pleasure to nominate Nuar Alsadir. I have been a great admirer of her work for many years now. With echoes of Rumi and Hafiz, her poems are a delicate mix of the quotidian and the profound. In witty, vibrant, always surprising turns, she reveals to us the weight of…
Friday night, my divorced brother trying out his new girlfriend on us, the oldies funk band so loud all we can do is dance and wait for a break— she sways, arms tight to her chest, fists shaking imaginary maracas. My brother’s steps have not changed—some vague C & W hip twitch from wife #1….
Halliday’s in Italy and Koch is dead (though I admit Koch never meant much to me). What matters is he made Halliday feel understood in (I imagine) much the way Halliday made me. I read him and knew I was free. A few years later he read me and just often enough responded enthusiastically (all…
When people smoked, and it hung over the table like magic or like wisps of the talk and the music between them, chicken bones, the best Chateaux, Coca-Cola in glass, Monk’s eyes cut left, Ornette laughing at something off-camera, safari suit and Savile Row bespoke, haberdashery circa ’72 and the black globe is damn near…
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