He kept the maps. They'd had a cardboard Kahlua box of maps, forest service maps, topo maps, road maps, some of them from the early Sixties when his parents had taken him and his brothers on road trips in the summers. She had to admit they were mostly his maps, though she'd grown to love…
My house full of chrysanthemums trying to continue. They stand in dry dirt, expecting something of me, sun or shade, I don't know which. If I knew enough about life to find a good place for them they'd come back again. How brave. The refrigerator's full of eggs, slick and mottled. Mute as violets. A…
Lying full-length in a porcelain bathtub in Billings, Montana, lit shadows of amoeboid forms feeling their way across my breasts, the day replaying its life as though near death: the naked body of my lover's daughter picking her steps along the rim of the lake, a goddess of the heat and sage; the sudden arising…
Skin deep, you son of a bitch, I thought, no more—but the impure Tip of his needle tracked its dance. The snake between the ribs, Anchor, tiger, the daggered heart, memento mori of the skull: In the heat of the body's refusal, I had to choose among images. Beyond the window, awl-points…
He was struck by the pure unstinting radiance, the light blazing so fiercely on the iron railings he had to shield his eyes, the sky above the Hudson hard and clear: the skyline, pink at the edges, gouged out with a knife. And the light was everywhere. It blazed in the window of the barbershop…
It must have happened like this: * * * My mother went to the hospital with a lump in her breast. The doctor did a biopsy. It wasn't malignant. They were trying to protect me so nobody said anything. * * * Sometime not too long after that a lady came to the door with the seven danger signs….
Suddenly disappears. Flows into a crowd, into a subway from which she'll refuse to emerge. The reporter will write: “She plunged into the crowd at the annual summer festival and never returned. The children found their way to their father alone.” She does not die. She does not desire the father, mother, even the sister…
1 I was seven that fall in Chicago Heights—we'd lived there a year. Under cirrus clouds and the white convulsions of noon I prowled the fields, elated. I butted down the rocky slope on my sled. each time a step closer to the ditch. Outside was the only place to be. The city streets of…
Agnus Dei, Holy Ghost or devil, lambent tongues of knowing skip across the desert skin. 3 A.M. I sit up straight, wait it out in bed awake, bring the twin soles of my feet together barely just till each becomes the reach & touch of self & other. A stranger's kiss. I press then, press…
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