I found a boat tied upat the water’s edge,rocking, rope frayed, oarsbanging in their locks. At home, you neverknew what mighthappen. A surprisea minute, they say. In the distancedark clouds, no traceof the other shore.It might have been wise to havebrought a compassand life jacket,to have packed a lunch.
We’d only just begun to scratch the floors with our own furniture, unfold the box flaps and hang the walls to look like our walls in the old apartment: familiar faces, fruits. Then we heard it, the long scrapes in deep grooves overhead. It came from the devil’s peak, after we’d turned the bedroom into the samedark as the…
Like a pomegranate, I wore my garnets quietly. Nudelip, beige tongue. I took the shape of clouds passing by. I was a tool for divination—you used me to findwater & blamed me when I drank. We dreaded you together. Still, I kept my smile on, even whenyou hid the key to my mouth. I was…
His beard’s still dark but a little grayer. I, too, have a gray hair or twotwisting through the dark ivy between my legs. Honestly, I’m surprisedhe recognizes me standing up. He looks well, fit, his smile as generousas I remember, all those times on my back staring up at a faded pictureof hot air balloons…
Sometimes, we let ourselvesbelieve we’re talking to his ghost. Sometimes, we think memory, its rhyme. How long can you stay afloat? my sister askswhen he admits to paying his ex-girlfriend’s rent again. He doesn’t care that she’s seeing other men and avoids his calls—doesn’t care that he owes back-taxes and hasn’t held down a job in years. He’s…
Where are the flying starsof my childhood? Evenings litlike a glitterball’s sparkle againstthe night’s dim walls. Their absenceis like aging: one less pulse each year. I want my childhood of darknessbedazzled again with shards of light—my tiny lighthouses, my suburbs of surprise—where the shadows of dogwoodsand crepe myrtles wink at me.Tell me I’ll never be…
DEFINE, meaning “the degree of distinctness in outline of an object, image, or sound,” sound being some motion invisible to the eye, progenitor to an empire of echoes, although empire implies dominion, a definition demanded from its subjects, all of whom are subject to their own purpose, “one that may be acted upon,” which is not, impossibly, all, “fully,…
I’m attracted to the em dash—that bridge across the void—a balance beam—a baton passed across thoughts—the sexiestbreak—the turntable’s tonearm before the groove kicks in—the “Electric Slide” of punctuation—(it’s electric!)—not an en dash or a hyphen—an expanded truth—playing the long game—the schemes between chess moves—all the small mercies—the giant oak on Corning Street toppling over a stone wall, tree branches…
Not the rosecarpet, nor the steady breathof the ceiling fan, but the patchof sunlight squeezing through.You’ve been here before.You’re early. Unlike last time—stuckin traffic. The otherpassengers in the Keke Napepdid what people stuck in traffic do: smileat strangers, tell the driver to change the radio station, crackknuckles, complain, fall asleep, wake & eat the agbalumosprobably…
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