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Once at night we saw them along the coast's rough edge, a dozen fishermen torching, waist-deep in the shallows. The moon half gone, dragged the tidewater across the coral and over the reef's ledge into the open sea. And as they moved slowly sliding their glass boxes across the water's dark face, some held their…
Mottled grouse peck up gizzard stones before the first snow— seasons move on as if the human heart were not infinitely fragile. The sow bear's stained snout lifts, sniffs the wind, then bows to claws raking in stems, berries, rasping leaves. A twelve-year-old, pleased, tells her aunt I kissed a boy…
The truck in the passing lane flings a stone squarely between my eyes in driving rain: November surprise. Arms of the windshield wiper flail like railroad crossing signs all the way to Seattle. I am leaving behind the scattered ash and the widow's double bed. Alone behind the wheel, I am comforted by old convent…
I saw my first ghost when I was nine years old, only I didn’t know it was a ghost at the time. This was on the Great Plains, in South Dakota, I think, on our way to the Black Hills. I was with my mother, my three-year-old sister, Lillie, and my new stepfather, Forrest Bender,…
Had he been naked as he skipped shivering out of the waves we would not have known he was so poor. But he was not naked. He wore around his hips an exhausted pair of castoff underwear gathered up at the hip, secured with the wire twist from some tourist's loaf of bread. He shivered,…
Retrieving forgotten coins from my Calvin Kleins— soggy poems in the pockets—I said with a native's pride, untangling my jeans from blue arms of a work shirt: Tomorrow I fly west with the wigeons and whistling ducks for a taste of summer. She looked up, folded the negligee, slinky as Diamond Lil's: But…
You should know the kind of morning it is— one gods have argued over for years. But I've decided I'm under a Byzantine curse out of which endings situate themselves like deep forests. The players are strewn in the empty heart of a house. She's called up her lost cat who kept her comfortable when…
It buzzes over my head and enters the wood near the roof. I paint the wooden deck with red and move out of the way, drops of paint like blood after its wings, like a trace of what I knew when it first stung me, years ago, made me dance like the thief of murals,…
We truckers are full of grease. We thrive on grease. That is, while we're young. And we get old awful fast. But most truckers on Highway 81 stop in for Ma Black's biscuits and gravy. She makes her own biscuits and serves them up with lots of her special milk gravy with big chunks of…
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