When his wife told him to get out of the house that had been hers, anyway, long before they were married, Valdek Moore looked in the paper and found a semi-furnished one-bedroom at Linden Pines. The development’s name suggested an estate of elegant foliage, right for a term of penance, when it was really a…
White ash, starling, lung of river rising and filling with silt: winter has gone, took its flood and its filth. This is the one season your house stands on dry feet. Today, I am half as tall as your house, my eye watching through the eye of the cobweb as wind makes its thrifty shuffle…
I have dreamed of you so much you are the headless hawk I found in a field, upturned like a plow blade of feathers. “Pick me up,” you said, “so I might roost as if I were the hawk.” I have dreamed of you so much, a tree grew where I stood, and grass rose…
1. Topsy, needy This is about an elephant, electrocuted one hundred years ago. Her name was Topsy, and she was famous at a time when people were still amazed by an elephant. Plus she did tricks. She could stand on her back legs, raising her front legs, wearing a gauze tutu. She was a star…
I begin to see the possibilities in dehydration just about now. Dehydration-a tantalizing word. Fog without moisture, space without stars or solar magnificence. Somewhere hidden are heaps of stone our guide found last week and, in our group’s wandering about, lost again. An effluvium of dust has hung over us for two months now, almost…
Once she stole a boat—is this how it started— at night to bring the pond a gift— it was a bird of salt—which was taken into its reflection. But the pond is not the sea. This is where you lived. The lesson of dissolve—but it was a bird—sifted to the bottom of all her actions….
Wind shook the trees and rain crackled at the windows. Could it have been any other way? Rain coming down, clothes wet, water dripping from our hair? At the window, could it have been a ghost singing its final warning? Clothes wet, water dripping from our hair, he fell on me like rain. I could…
You showed up late and angry. You shat upon the floor. With that, how could we fail to recognize you? Your father, grief’s tent show wizard, the long connected silks pouring from his sleeve. And your mother? Haven’t you known me wholly as the spider knows each tilting and imperfect room she sews to be…
My secret pleasure is the echo my indifference makes when you call on me—even in praise, even in distress. You refuse to believe your senses; so you ignore clear indications of thoughtful malice. Yet my example instructs: you strike out at one another ceaselessly and with growing violence; doubt blossoms as spring comes on. My…
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