Such wonderful tales leap, tongue-tied, from these broken names then vanish, one by one. Now morning's vanished too; each cracked stone tablet sheathes itself in noon's broad band of light — this clear, cold light, the special province of one anxious, backward glance. Lost stories fill the ear's one room with other rooms—all empty, room…
In a little casket, a garden begins to grow: wild roses pink as the mouths of house cats, daisies going to pieces in a loves me, loves me not lullaby, the white light of calla lilies flooding the vault's wall. Is there a baby in the casket? Yes, the blue kingdom inhabited by you, my…
I am willing to die at some time but on a morning choice as this I would find it too hard to give up the lavish details of this world voluntarily. Content as I am in my study of whatever passes my wrought-iron chair, I listen to all the varied forms of peace: the wind…
Gordon He pressed the side of his face to the pillow and waited for the sound of birds. The room was black, the window open; when a breeze came the curtains billowed out against a lighter sky. He heard the clock. He heard the dry sound of Helen breathing; there was a sigh and a…
for Andy and Gail How did I spend my evening? By coming home in rain that slowly translated itself into curtain after curtain of oriental beads that I brushed through cold and very tired. All winter the repairman has come dressed in sweaters, never coats, crouched in darkness at the heart of things, trying to…
Not much time left here in the other Brooklin overlooking Herrick Bay driven like an anchor into the town's center it is as though all of the animals had come out of the woods to speak now in that instant when the season flees and leaves its shards in the middens the black bear, the…
MASTHEAD Directors DeWitt Henry Peter O'Malley Coordinating Editors for This Issue Jane Shore Ellen Wilbur Managing Editor Susannah Lee CONTRIBUTORS Julie Agoos has work forthcoming in Crazy Horse. Her poems have appeared in Antaeus, The Antioch Review, and Quarry West. She teaches writing in Baltimore. Debra Allbery is an Ohio native, received an M.F.A. from…
In the pink light of the funeral parlor they spread her out, the arc of a lamp overseeing the calm colors of her folded hands. How far away from us she lies in the big, serious casket like a creche, holding as it does her babied corpse. Visitors in clumps of twos and threes sway…
The Rabbi saw a Torah-scroll surrounded by a fence with one picket missing. . .The iron points glowed, and the gap was like a missing tooth in the face of God. So Talmud was written. I let the book slide to the floor, and shred puckers on the pink chenille bedspread. This is my new…
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