One of the old ones has fallen in. The pond has autumn’s clarity and layering, leaves afloat and sunken, sky reflections over the bottom’s pebbles and scree. I make up names for the colors of this leaf— allol, draeth, breen— while an ant walks all the way up its stem.
How do you sleep? he asked, and I said Wait—I know— because I didn’t know. My husband insists I sleep a certain way. —Not on your stomach? He seemed disappointed. Then on your back? —Maybe, my back, or my side. I didn’t tell him, I sleep like something tossed onshore, —or the way we are…
Look at me. I’m standing on a deck in the middle of Oregon. There are friends inside the house. It’s not my house, you don’t know them. They’re drinking and singing and playing guitars. You love this song, remember, “Ophelia,” Boards on the windows, mail by the door. I’m whispering so they won’t think I’m…
A wild incipience in the air as if everything stilled is deeply active, the night cascading through the tall pines until it’s in the house. I don’t feel just yet like turning on the lights. There’s an unlikable bird chuckling outside the window. Another bird says to it tsk, tsk. The end of summer is…
No one is awake yet, neither the cardinals who live in the gnarled, rotted-out apple tree, nor Lucy my younger daughter whose shrieks are our alarm and birdsong. This is the best hour, neither night nor morning, a place in which shadows become more real than the things that cast them. …
I came into this world on the back of a white elephant who carried a talking monkey on the sloped smoothness of her tusk. The monkey would riddle the trees with questions, ask them how many pears they shed in the time it took Monkey to somersault from one end of the cosmos to the…
John & Mary had never met. They were like two hummingbirds who also had never met. —from a freshman’s short story They were like gazelles who occupied different grassy plains, running in opposite directions from different lions. They were like postal clerks in different zip codes, with different vacation time, their bosses adamant and…
Wherever we travel it seems to take the same few hours to get there. The plane rises over clouds into an unmarked sky, comes down through clouds to what we have to believe is a different place. But here are the same green road signs the numbered highways of home, with cars going back and…
V-necked, tobacco-colored cardigan pocked with tiny holes burned by embers of his cigarettes. He wore it when he’d flung off his collar in the sacristy. I believe he preferred the beauty of women to the virtue of sermons. I believe he preferred their beauty to giving absolution. A gift from his mother who favored him…
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