Carleyville left late because of the rain. That morning the phone had finally been disconnected, after a ridiculous argument with the phone company, when the supervisor he was finally connected with agreed to disconnect after asking a series of questions he could not possibly answer. With his credit card, his “code” was his mother’s maiden…
Russell Banks, The Angel on the Roof, stories: A magnificent, generous collection of thirty-one stories, many of them set in hardscrabble New Hampshire, eloquently probing the lives of parents and children, husbands and wives. (HarperCollins)
This morning, our first snow. It only sticks to roofs, the grass still green and brown. Right now we are bombing Baghdad. I’ve finished my coffee, lit another cigarette. The halogen-white ceiling, the windows fogging up. Neighbors leaving for work and coming home from work. In the kitchen, bacon popping. Right now my father sleeps…
Lily Stark’s mother had just said the facts of the murder were too horrible to repeat. But Lily’s father insisted a story as awful as how Mr. Sam was slaughtered would teach Lily something about this world. “I don’t care about the world you even mean,” Lily said. For a long time Lily had been…
Rosellen Brown, Half a Heart, a novel: Miriam Starobin is living in upper-middle-class Houston when she is reunited with her eighteen-year-old daughter-the fruit of an affair with a black professor in Mississippi when Miriam was a civil rights activist. A searing, provocative novel about race, identity, and ideals. (FSG)
Before, I did not believe In lightning, its work, the mad climb up from ground Desperate to marry what descends. The sudden need For more than one path, the white hand spread, The elaborate delta. Before the storm, I did not understand; I thought revelation Would come later, just when I wasn’t looking— The way…
On the evening of D-day, the pub is packed. It’s a close June night in the Welsh hills, with the threat of thunder. The radios of the village cough with static. The Quarryman’s Arms, with the tallest aerial for miles around, is a scrum of bodies, all waiting to hear the Prime Minister’s broadcast. There’s…
Stratis Haviaras, Millennial Afterlives: A Retrospective, prose poems: A gorgeous limited-edition collection of poetic missives, each dedicated to a friend, that lyrically reflects on the passage of time. (Wells College)
My solemn hens. Electric bulb, the door Locked twice. To keep from hearing the promise of Coyote we dream of the rooster claiming dawn Even as he flees to the unknown forest. But morning brings back what remains And as I enter all eyes turn golden; The autumn haunches shift. How quickly they forget What…
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