Mottled grouse peck up gizzard stones before the first snow— seasons move on as if the human heart were not infinitely fragile. The sow bear's stained snout lifts, sniffs the wind, then bows to claws raking in stems, berries, rasping leaves. A twelve-year-old, pleased, tells her aunt I kissed a boy…
We truckers are full of grease. We thrive on grease. That is, while we're young. And we get old awful fast. But most truckers on Highway 81 stop in for Ma Black's biscuits and gravy. She makes her own biscuits and serves them up with lots of her special milk gravy with big chunks of…
It's not the wave that will devour you, arms and braids and all. Not even the stranger you won't look at in the shiny car. Not the topography of deserts, where you follow streambeds through the night, gobbling up the stars like sugar, ready to break the moon in half. Not even the mountain that…
Had he been naked as he skipped shivering out of the waves we would not have known he was so poor. But he was not naked. He wore around his hips an exhausted pair of castoff underwear gathered up at the hip, secured with the wire twist from some tourist's loaf of bread. He shivered,…
For the gain of heaven in the zip code of our area, we need a miracle. Do the red-winged blackbirds that fly past Rick Brothers Propane Gas, and Dinette Beautiful signal a change? And the green anemic trees that sprout like acts of faith on the side of the road, what do they say to…
In a sense it's always winter in this wooded county of our psyche, where my father and I build a house, the rest of the crew off drunk somewhere. The contractor has taken blueprints and a cash advance to Reno. A white sky pays out kernels of snow. My father saws. I nail. Partitions take…
San Antonio, Texas, 1990 In the Crockett Hotel dining room, a chalk-faced man in medalled uniform growls a prayer at the head of the veterans' table. Throughout the map of this saint-hungry city, hands strain for the touch of shrines, genuflection before cannon and memorial plaque, grasping the talisman of Bowie knife replica at the…
on my birthday I climb up here only to feel small again. Blue liquor of distances: one sip and I start to lose size, anger, the sticky burrs of wanting. If only, what if—let the wind carry it away. Wave after wave of shadow comes over the mountain, like some great migration. Up here everything's…
By the time we first met, you were the big-hearted poet, big in every way, breast and head, wrists and calves, but largest in the heart. And deep in the eye, grey like your hair, unlike those areas through which you moved as if on glass, unyielding in your big, gentle way, no longer that…
No products in the cart.