I was once asked in an interview why cell phones don’t appear in my poems. This was followed up with a question about where I imagined the things that occur in my poems actually occur: "You know what I mean," said the interviewer, "things like deer and trees, birds and light . . ." I…
What if they could speak?: the pawn shop menorahs and samovars, the cherubs torn from their heavens, suspended forever in limbo, hanging by five black strings thickened in dust, their gold wings flaking so close to earth; the jewel- shaped chandeliers unmoored from ceilings; the salty waves in stasis on the black…
The glass shone cold with water fresh from somebody’s old “family spring” west of the Blue Ridge. I drank half in one continuous gulp—not greed, but because the day was hot. Then, out of breath or the telephone rang, I don’t remember— I stopped. I put the glass down to mist on the counter as…
MASTHEAD Guest Editor Carl Phillips Editor Don Lee Poetry Editor David Daniel Assistant Editor Gregg Rosenblum Associate Fiction Editor Maryanne O'Hara Associate Poetry Editor Susan Conley Founding Editor DeWitt Henry Founding Publisher Peter O'Malley Assistant Fiction Editor: Jay Baron Nicorvo. Editorial Assistants: Nada Bankovic and Chris Tonelli. Proofreader: Megan Weireter. Poetry Readers: Megan Weireter, Simeon…
1. The cherry tree bends not from its fruit but cold. Cold has more desire than tree or beholder to make a pleasing form. I have made a decision to stand under what shelter might be offered by the tree and let all tropical routine submerge under the actual sap that gilds fruit and dream…
Generous I may have been, amnesiac I became. Autumn fattened and thinned; I stared at the clock’s senseless hands. I let the girl in the market make change. I looked at my lists of medicines and the bottles on the shelf, but they seemed separate. In the bathroom mirror my face was suddenly antediluvian who…
There were a bunch of us who had drawn together into a corner of the dining room. It was a big party, and none of us had met before. But a tiny core of women of a certain age had drawn more women until there were enough of us that we needed to be democratic…
Eight years later the woman is given a house for five months at the edge of town in the desert. It’s August and the desert is green. When rain falls, she drives beyond the dark clouds. Past an antelope resting, legs under it, head raised, white marks. Drives slowly around a turtle. If the man…
For a while I was dropped but I’m back on the assembly line. My boss is the Muse, who cites me for laziness and other offenses. I confess I try on the words in the back room sometimes, do a jig in front of the mirror, and cringe at the difference between what I am…
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