Louisa Solano We want to salute Louisa Solano, who is celebrating her twentieth year as the owner of the Grolier Poetry Book Shop in Harvard Square. Throughout that time, Solano has been an invaluable and supportive resource for poets and poetry readers alike, holding book signings, running a reading series, and administering the Grolier Poetry…
. . . only making love to you wasn’t I curious about the rest of experience . . . —Jane Miller once i snake my dress off i will loll still as volts train my feet to paint opposing murals if a riff of flesh will halve me on this tasty day in the luxurious…
The mother kneels beside her grieving child, grieving because the whale has not come, because the whales are elsewhere, not heaving clear of the water where child and mother can see them. In the brilliant light of a day at sea, the child whimpers. Her own small sea ebbs and rolls until she spews an…
with their children running ahead, the shore is as messy as any other grassy edge where birds nest, rock spotted, blotched by gulls, geese, and gadwalls. Into the flocks, unexpected outburst of a hundred startled teal, wingtips all together, thrumming the air this close! Almost to touch. Wet sand slopped by my daughter’s small hands…
—Wittgenstein, Remarks on Colour A chair, A nuthatch on the trunk of a walnut tree, The bloated belly of a dead deer, A man of seventy Grunting at toenails he struggles to pare. A woman In a straw hat over straw-textured hair Kneeling in a garden. What is not now departure will be. Foam on…
For one thing I’m glad the goal of enlightenment means being so utterly stupid as to actually slip out the door every morning & live. With no second-guessings, no poses, just this leaning & slouching the experts term hope. Because people like me aren’t guilty of laughing at the passing streets. I mean I believe…
Already pregnant, she writes her name and his, Lou and Mike, over the cloudy pictures in True Stories. Black-and-white pictures of a leggy woman (Lou) draped, the arching stem of her throat almost tears from her head, so thrown back with pounds of hair and a dark man’s (Mike’s) kisses. Done eating, Mike scrubs the…
A sow rooting around in a garden uncovered a silk purse. “Oh Good Heavens!” she squealed in horror. “That’s Gertrude’s ear!” Another sow trotted over, and stared at the soiled object. “No, no,” she concluded, with a relieved snuffle. “That can’t be Gertie’s ear. Gertie’s ear didn’t have a clasp.” …
—Habermas, Communication and the Evolution of Society The man with the crooked dick strikes a match. The woman with one arm breaks into flame. The man finds a bird’s skull and wants to play catch. The woman hears the skull calling her name. He looks out the window. She looks in the door. He crushes…
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