On a Russian prank show,a woman gets a call saying her sonhas been kidnapped for ransom.When she doesn’t send the money,she receives a dismembered finger in the mail.Something’s been tearing the ringsoff Saturn. The winds tooare different, some relationshipbetween positive ion contentand a spike in homicides.Is it too muchfor all that is good to not…
try to describe it even one quick linedrawn with unlifted pencil already wrong
It’s a private collection. My love and I pay more than we can affordto walk through this apartment-turned-exhibit. Our guide leads us into the first room, which is full of the sort of dark that makes you feel gone, that pulls your color out through your heels. According to our guide, this room contains elevenof the…
I do not fear being alone anymore, any more than I fear the “I” in apoem. “I” still do not understand myself completely, and if viewed fromthe corner of the eye, that’s thrilling. “I” am in a lifelong mystery withinmy own ownership. Yet no one, not even “I” will witness its unfoldingentirely. I’ve heard that…
is in our hands: in these bones lashedby ligaments, sheathed in skin. Flex your fingers wide, like folding fans,collapse them in. Muscleless puppets, they are merciless or tender dependingon what moves them. We can train a single finger to hold a body’s weight; all tentogether, to summon a sonata, birth a baby, ball into clubs…
In 2020, I, too, walk through life with hand sanitizer,spraying it on everything. Under the horrified microscope,life blows kisses, sticks out its tongue.The neighbors’ kids stick their noses to the fence.So does mine. Don’t lick the fence, Nathan. Lizzie. Josh.I, too, am desperate for a tenuous separationof destiny from statistics. Before the pandemic,why did we…
With Dickinson, Woolf & Duras I am alive—becauseI am not in a Room— Emily’s fingertips feltthe Morning Glory & Virginiastood straight between four walls worrying about the daffodils & the fig trees.A dying fly bouncing on the windowpane,buzzing, struggling—Marguerite wrote— unknown sky it’s overIs a wild garden safer than an owned house? When you make…
Translated by Kaveh Akbar and Arman Salem صبهكه خانه را ترک مى كنم، جوانم،و شبپير به خانه باز مى گردمبا اندوهاى هزار ساله،چهار ديوارى خانه امآرام و صبورپذيراى پيرمردى است كهسحرگاهان.جوان برمى خيزد In morningWhen I leave my house, I am young And nightI return again to my house, oldHolding one thousand years of grief…
I lay down next to my child as she sleeps.Three years ago, she was a ceramicistmolding the elasticity of my skin—(A foot! A trail inside the sand of me.) Now, she is more than half the length of my bodyas I lay next to her—She rolls over toward me, heavy with sleep— The only feeling better than…
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