In April when she drove away he looked at his hands. They were oily from the boat’s engine, from the garage. But what a thing to notice. He turned and saw the children, who were watching from the steps, and wondered what she had given him now. The day before she left they discovered something…
Think tonight of sixteen year old Scott Huff of Maine driving home fell asleep at the wheel, his car sprang awake from the weight of his foot head on into a tree. God, if you need him take him asking me to believe in you because there are yellow buttercups, salmon for my heart in…
In a thin flowery gown, out of season, draped in a bizarre gauze shawl like a new kind of insect, she sits at a table dipping chips and looking through us, thinking of nothing to pass the time. Living on the inside of time, she is waiting to come out of her own perfect body,…
Since no other women is like you, I wish You’d stop pretending to be representative. Nice number, for shame, tsk, tsk, Bringing your healthier sisters to witness In your case; we know, little darling, that this Difficulty Transcends sex. Style, to be sure, is neuter. Grace Does not have a space for writing in “M”…
for — This is a simple poem Because our lives can be simple. On the pier, Listening to the fish Gather in the shallow waters, the wind Blowing across the phosphorus, I stood for hours in the pale halos of the harbor. I was thinking of you, the way An arm remembers salt burning the skin….
I bang my spoon on the table, my iron tongue. To calm myself I try to remember the weight of a cubic foot of water, count the layers of whitewash scaling the walls. Outside is a mild apricot evening, evangelist air. Everything is far away and there are no stairs. Send me a package of…
Taking yourself seriously is much more difficult even than having others take you seriously. Women aren’t trained to it. On my very first date, for example, the guy gave me five bucks to bet on my own horse and when I won I had to ask him what to do with the money. Do you…
It’s raining like the day you walked out, harmonica in your pocket, the suitcase of shirts. I’m thinking of you again, with your variety of wives: the cajun, my mother the Greek, and Alberta, the Texas peach. Reminded by this dull rain and every man I see absently touching the child, of how you smiled…
She could only remember that leather thing of skin flapped over the sunken chest, the way the sheet cut him off at the waist and chin, effacing the place where the rest of the delinquent body hid. She could only remember the fact of ribs sprawled flat as the arms of starfish floating drugged on…
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