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“…they camped at eventide by the River of Forgetfulness, whose waters no vessel can contain…and each one as he drank forgot all things.”– Plato, Republic Imagine you are weary. Imagine you have carried the heftof skeletons for years. Imagine the day you fear death less than living long. Imaginearriving at the blue ribbon of river& across…
Husking the foxtail millet gives it a new namewhere I’m from, the abundant attention staple cropscommand not so different from superhero reboots oneafter another, a man shedding a capeis a new man with a new past. I wanted to explain thisthe time a man in a corner office said he knew a saying from China:“The…
but I knew there were secrets. We all knew and we all strong-armed the chesty life vests back into their shed like lovers backed into closets. Only at that lake did I play spies; only there did I try writing with my sinister hand: Tin of poison in nightstand. But it was just decorum putting those deadly caroms in drawers where no one…
My student spends his summers in city cemeteries,clipping the scruff that grows too close to the stones or anywhere the mowers can’t go. Sundays mostly the death-jilted come, some to pledge the stiffwith a fifth, some to Windex the pane of granite.Some of those leftcome to sob nearer the leaveror, anyway, nearerthe dregs that pool…
In poetry, our winner is Mariya Zilberman for her poem “Against Temporality.” Of her poem, poetry judge Ilya Kaminsky says, “This poem dares to be simple: and, as a result, the nuances are uncovered in the tension between image and time, detail and emotion, silences and linebreaks. We are presented with a number of details,…
1. STORY Shhhh! her mother said. Sit down. Next to me. Time to read. The girl climbed up on the couch, crossed her ankles. Pay attention. A yellow picture book. Notice that the word “monkey” sounds like “Monica.” The title character. George, lived in Africa, a continent that on…
A violent stirring of the interior unfolding by churns. What we begin with is disequilibrium. The slurred echoing of the eye. Call it misrecognition: thinking it’s the earth that’s blurry when it’s the mind. – Lost are the coordinates of the spirit, or the animal intuition that binds— What I…
Forfeit the August you fell into an open manhole. Those years when people stole the metal lids in the middle of the night for scrap metal and grain money. Proceed forward one step. Give up the two hours in 2003 you spent tracing the chiseled characters on your mother’s gravestone. Draining your water bottle to…
Aging, he grew sure the country was gone to hell, not because of me but people too much like me for me to tell the difference. And yet he’d shown me how to mound dark soil, firm and careful, around a cucumber seedling to help it grow. Had let me drive the tractor or pretend,…
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