1 September There was nothing outside our town to warn you of its coming. One second you weren’t there and the next you were. It was more than a post office and more than a village, but it had no sprawl, it had no outskirts. The town huddled close together for protection, the desert everyone…
My aunt Leticia could be counted on to explain the family mysteries. She’d forget I didn’t know something and drop it into conversation, or use the occasion of having a fever—or being ill in any way—to let down her defenses and tell me things I hadn’t been told. Sometimes the words flew out of her…
for Bill Handley We have only the Book of the Infinite to guide us and how we interpret its unthinkable premise: this life then an afterlife. At the end of his, he saw blue. I was told this. Eyes upturned drawing the sky into one extended remembrance of a present. I was told…
"At last," my husband said, when I had locked up for the night and come to bed. "You knew I would," I said. "But I didn’t know when." Propped up in the recently rented hospital bed, he peered more closely at my chosen book. A novel by Patrick O’Brian. "Wait, no, no," he said. "You…
I was in the kitchen when the FBI arrived. I had no idea who they were at first. Just two guys coming up the front walk. I felt the Watch Tower heading my way, I sensed conversion, vacuum cleaners, rubbery soap in small plastic buckets that could clean anything yet protect the surface. I threw…
Immediately upon entering Carl Phillips’s spartan, Cape Cod writing studio—all wood and windows, abutting some forty acres of conservation land—two things catch the eye: an antique horse bridle, worn but handsomely preserved, on the wall, and an old-fashioned stand-up writing desk in the corner. Both objects open windows onto Phillips’s writing life and a poetry…
sole residue of written wisdom as actualized by things. Christ if the tulips shudder. Here the grass is rain-flattened and may not re-spring. What can one person say to another? The master is the master? The children are playing on the shore? To this language, the heron on the sandbar does not answer. Objects sought…
i. My wife, Rita, has been having these dreams in which relatives arbitrarily appear and either ask her to get inside something—a car, a slowly moving train, a brightly lit room that seems unattached to any larger structure—or implore her to let them enter a room or some other place, fixed or moveable (an elevator,…
In the first weeks, they wanted for nothing. This is how it always is— bountiful body, ravenous laws. They watched at the curb as the horse parade passed: colorful flags, fanfare, such clapping. They called to the elderly couple across the way, raising their pale hands each morning and evening, as to an old question….
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