Everyone wore evening clothes, Got in and out of supercharged saloons The size of drawing rooms, And lived in a nightclub To the tune of watery. Latin rhythms I could pick up on my crystal set. Radio antennas also emitted Cute little bolts of lightning That flew through the air bearing The message: Balloonists Found,…
In one of his poems, Wallace Stevens leaves us a record of the writer as connoisseur, imposing order on chaos, and, on the other hand, deliberately upsetting the established order. Elizabeth Sewell, in The Structure of Poetry, views the process of writing poems as a mediation between extremes from logic to nightmare. And these polarities…
1. Pastorale ”Lie down and stay down,” she shouts, once again underestimating the impact of her anatomy on mine. Her mistake's to place me too high on the ladder of being — she thinks I'm a bad dog and therefore corrigible. But the forces that rule me are beneath control — I'm only a tool…
for Tom Lux I hadn't known Miss Halloran, had never been one of her students, but the School Board must have decided attending her funeral would be educational for all of us. Turning around in the itchy, cushioned pew of Saint Mary's, I could see only kids. It was 1951. We collected bubblegum cards about…
The freezer holds only a few things. Fewer as it makes its ermine muff of frost, as it comes time, and overtime, to defrost. The shelves hold a few things. At the back on the lowest slab with the margarine, my withered corsage, red carnation: I dressed in black, and went on the bus to…
It was not my first death. I had coiled the rare wood and fabric of stiff kittens into a shoe box, toyed with the blood-dried stumps of squirrel tails after the hunt. I knew vertigo, large hands lowering me into a casket to kiss a grandparent's waxy cheek, the hot wind of palm leaf funeral…
From a distance they looked like Oreos scattered over the snowy pastures. But that was from a distance. Up close they looked like cows, Holsteins, enormous and stupid and occasionally mooing in their sleep. Or turning their long faces—all nose— they look at you with their sad childlike eyes, they lift their tails— their great…
Like jewelry his bicycle gleams on my porch, attached to his hands, carried a flight before he even knocks and it wheels its majesty into my kitchen. As we talk of the torch I flick my lighter. Later we fly to the park. He wheels away down streets and sometimes closer, asking how far, how…
We were numb to Nebraska, stunned by a land so austere we feared the Sioux would not survive the monotone of country road. Though in love, we did not include in our romance the constancy of cornfields, the slackened flags above each roadside stand. We lived inside a grand idea: we could change The State….
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