Clear, please, as a glass house. Ladled in plates, liquid form, silica, sand, dolomite, lime. Then be tempered, shaped, craned till you stand fastened to the forest floor, reflecting. And if a sudden garden struts up, rising in ribboned slope of pine and pin oak, laurel or fleabane, you can draw markers for their names,…
In late summer I swim across the lake to the stand of reedswhich grows calmly in the foot-deep water on the other side. It is like going to a florist’s shopyou have to take your clothes off to get to, where nothing is for sale and nothing on displaybut some tall, vertical green spears, and…
The room cannot feel its arteries stuffed with animal fatfrom the insulation. Cannot hope to alter its mouth andeating is not a thing that it can do well. The room hasn’ttaken a bath since 1987, but there was a slight wash in1992 bestowing the room its perforated body. The roomcannot control the content of its…
The kind Italian driver of the bus to Romeinvited her to his house—she was obviouslyhungry—and gave her sandwichesand raped her. All those years ago—she smileswhile telling it—contemptuous,somehowof her younger self, who drags behind her like a can.Grammar is greatbut who will write the sentence that includesthe story of the damage to her soul and how…
We’re in the middle of it, in the middleof the backyard barbecuing steakand chicken. Telling stories with our wives and girlfriends away,red and blue psychedelics, Coors Lightand breasts falling into our mouths again like basalt cliffs into the sea.Jeremy says, I did CPR on a gorilla once.A girl gorilla, a big one. I kept thinking,…
The sun was nothing more than an orangethe day Lisa ran for the ice cream truck.It was small and even if it held sweetness,even if it seeped Vitamin C, it couldn’t stopthe car from barreling down Mott Avenue,couldn’t shine enough to show the driver the eight-year-old girl dashing in front of his Pontiac so that…
I go around and turn the pages—the newestnews—for the paralytics on the porch.At least the day isn’t hot yet. So saysonly a gleam in an old man’s eye. A beezeroes in for the kill. I roll the ladiesto the shady side. No one wants wordof war. They go for a strangled baby on page three,continued…
When I decide to go to hear Handel’s Messiah in London at the composer’s parish church, my husband sayshe’d rather see a Thai horror movie, so we plan to meet later at our favorite Moroccan lair that serves huge platters of olives and fried goat brains, but here I am sitting in the pew next to the…
do you remember that bumyou ran into in the bathroom of the Radissonwashing himself with a rag his clothes in a pilein the corner he must have been in his sixtiesall smiles and still retarded by his father’s rageoh this man he said the things he didto me and my mother you wouldn’t believethey made…
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