I would never say anything against the dead. I would drop my clothes to them and say yes, see how the sun won't leave alone what we cover. My neighborhood is startlingly luminous. Yesterday yellow tanks steamshovelled for the underworld. Otters dove to sleek back their hair. On the bench a man old as dirt…
Herself She was most of all herself with the children who touched her arm without thinking as if fingers had a life of their own who liked her who listened to her joke and gave back appreciation and could whoop who finished in the tub a song she started at the stove. As much her…
Grandmother said her grandmother unwrapped the knives & forks each meal, backward-walking to the cabin she left. She remembered her dishes on the shelf, a book, her feather bed. The way sun dusted the floor. Soldiers could come again & push her on a trail in the dead of winter. After the removal she started…
San Zaccaria, Venice All day long, the madonna runs by the river in her red and blue gown. The wet earth steams, and cabbage fields bear the lace of her footprints. Maria, her mother calls over and over across the fields. But in the end, after many tries, Bellini can't do it. He loves too…
There is a sweet in it though suite is what they said not taffy wrapped in a paper twist. I don't always hear well or want to and see Chicks Singing in Their Shawls painted on a bread truck. What it might have said I can't think. A sweet in it. A lean professor processes…
1. Ties At the old Hawthorne station my eyes track him on the rails: a double shining. Inside new voices post arrivals, departures and I remember East Cleveland homecomings, familiar trembling on the platform soon to be a stage, my father at center in his unyielding gray tweeds. The rumble at my feet. And I…
There was a great deal of anticipation surrounding the arrival of the new junior-high teacher. Olivia Gibbs: first, because she was new and from the East, which automatically lent her cultural superiority in the eyes of Mosly's self-effacing citizenry; and, secondly, because, from her resume, it was clear Miss Gibbs had travelled widely and would…
The leaves all blaze, a fireplace's commonplace crimson and gold, the vines become scrawls of a letter hidden from someone — parents, your spouse, or other lover — between newpapers in the kindling bin or only accidentally fallen into flames, and, worse, your only memory of the address is vines black upon leaves blackening after…
How should they look, Indians, California Indians, Streaming down the red dirt road, Igneous dirt, past my mother's Family's house? How should they Look in 1922? Should They be dirty, poor, straggly Unfortunate things, hair matted, Dragging discarded fragments Of cloth, clutching beads Of the cheapest gaudiest Glass? Or should they look heroic, Movie version,…
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