Simon’s house was elegant, with spacious apartments. I like to think lilacs fell from my hair. Simon himself was dignified, secure. It was a supper of powerful men; I crouched under the table, at the feet of the man I loved, applying ointment to His feet, out of the usual desire. Tonight the table is…
Are these mellifluous sheep, And these the meadows made twice-melliferous by their bleating? Is that the famous mechanical wind-up shepherd Who comes with instructions and service manual? This must be the regulation white fleece Bleached and starched, And we could be posing for our first communion pictures, Except for the nasty horns. I am beginning…
Let us those who have obliterated so many faces deny their own faces let us grant them no faces let us blot out their faces the sun eats the snow let time devour their faces let us look for the faces of those they killed who died faceless in the name of…
It bears no correlation to the living world. It is as if a malice toward all things malleable, mutable, had seized the universe and emptied its spherical alleys. How could you think it, that I would choose to stay, or break under the journey back? Like a dog I had followed your unravelling skein of…
I’ve read the propaganda, and I believe it now. I shoulda bought a van de- signed to squush a cow. Small cars are “unforgiving.” They crumple up like foam. It takes a heap o’ living To make a house a home, and if a heap o’ heap’ll satisfy some people, then who am I to…
SWEETIES Once when I was very bad and bit several of the Debrosses girls in the afternoon, Madame Debrosse hung a notice round my neck that said, "Watch out, Sophie bites." She told Maman I should be made to wear white gloves like her girls; it is so they will not touch anything dirty in…
1. Morning: the caged baby sustains his fragile sleep. The house is a husk against weather. Nothing stirs — inside, outside. With the leaves fallen, the tree makes a web on the window and through it the world lacks color or texture, like stones in the pasture seen from this distance. This is what is…
The tacky dromedaries of the tachydromeion, Swaying in place, are yellow and are blue. They browse upon my postcards. The Aegean Gallops in all directions all around them. They are true Stoics. They can go nowhere. And they do. The light grows positively Sophoclean. Towerings and dishevelments ensue. A slash of zacharoplasteion neon Scribbles a…
from Island Lives Although this memoir honors an Original and only secondarily anatomizes an Adventuress, the fellow traveller will want to know why I wished to kill my father, Philip Turner, who was not even a bad sort. For the answer we must look down my private fork of the Kaplan-Turner genealogy, back to the…
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