after Bobby Chacon it’s with you all the time like a wife it will know if you don’t treat it right but if you treat it right it can be good like a wife it’s with you all the time you treat her right you know if you don’t treat her right a…
The self I am today. Involves me. As a lake. Involves. Its cattails. It bears me. Tolerates. My cotton. I would prefer. Not. To be outlived. By anyone. I reserve the right. To refuse. Enchantment. The fables I tell. Always end. Wrong. The good archer. Dead. By a stream. By a…
Here is one: Try to be more than merely good Here is another: تلاش ناکافی است Of the others, I know mostly cuisine—soufflé, berbere, tamale. □ It’s delicious, being so governed by the primacy of my tongue. □ Snips and snails. □ There was an…
language is a moving belt words slide along and you grab what you need sometimes you miss please and settle for now sometimes you need both fog and steam every you can be plural the language affords us this it’s easy to mistake intensity for intimacy once I read a story that was all silence…
puñal, adj. desus. I hang at the back of the school ground, my fingers Hooked to the chain-link facing the street, tips white With my body’s weight. The oak tree behind me bends Down farther each day I visit to smear My mind on its bark. Armando walks By the basketball field, spots…
distracted by a delicateness i don’t summer with enough the wood goes unsplit and blankets are added to the bed my hands roughened not unlike the sun -cut skin of eva in august, dirt freckled knees and a cobweb of fear about harvest spun in the window under the frame of last winter’s regret she…
I can remember one particular time, in her grandparents’ attic: her legs, slightly older than mine, shaved amphibian smooth, her breath around my face like an evaporated puddle, naked or almost, in semidarkness, her blue eyes dusk. We wouldn’t allow our mouths to touch. She’d hold her hand over mine and tongue her own knuckles….
We fixed binoculars on it. John the Bird Whisperer’s two zero-in guesses— the black kite’s helicopter spin, or swoop of eagle, a wedgetail obsessed with high mysteries. Who brought the strongest lens, the steadiest hold, that cloudless morning in Canberra? Still autumn at that point, going into winter. post-fire and pre-fire. A…
gone to ash. Someone told us the pond no longer went silver in wind. Someone told us Eucalyptus melliodora is melleus (honey) and odora (sweet smelling) though nowhere in the house even under such trees did it not reek of the grate. John the Bird Whisperer: that golf course saved this whole…
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