The long stretch of green flattens into the horizon. Forever and ever, he seems to say, but it is nothing, it is not him, it is only my mind, speaking into the silence. In the distance, the goats wait patiently, the sun tilts patiently, the sky breathes its steady rays. We are letting time slip. We are letting…
The bruised-blue sky, the blown-breath willow, and goldenrod fallen leaves woven with acrylic yarn into your best, most beautiful sweater: the fake wool woodscape felt soft on your skin, no stinging or deep itch, a scene wrapped around your teenage rib cage—all angle tones and autumn. You would wear nothing underneath, felt only the inside-out…
We waited around, for what I don’t know—the strange body becoming strangerthe more we stared? After you starelong enough a cloud might take the shapeof a frog or an elephant lying down,or not look like anything but cloud. How much time had passed? After a while we put on our jackets and hats,then somebody dropped a deerskin…
If I knew how to enter this moment I would tell you about my father,who entered a mission in California, went straight to the guestbook,and asked my mother for a pen. He wrote the words shame on andthe rest can be filled in with many words. He said Native Americanswere used by the church, and it is…
And if the family is in a car drivingAnd if the car is a 1965 Ford FalconWith a Hi-Po 289, velocity stacksSticking out of the hood, solidFront axle for drag racing, and ifThe car is running on retreadsAnd if the car is on an inclineOn the way back from Bud LakeAnd the sun is angled…
Raised by grief, raised by hunger, the bowls of cornflakes she ate alone at night. Raised by the 4:00 a.m. ring calling her to open up, roughnecks waiting at the café door. Raised away from language, English she was not allowed to speak. Raised into anger—men she was not allowed to see and the one she sneaked off…
I would have hefted heaven and earth aloft to keep your hearts thumping in your thorny chests,your world-weary lungs filling like accordions, your eyes shining with visions pierced by glee. But you performed your leave-taking dutifully— such are nature’s commandments, its ordained cycles—so, though your vanishing slowed my life with sorrow, I no longer saw you in the wavering…
How would I know, don’t you seeI haven’t washed my hands? Howcould I even talk about anything?I don’t remember anything fromSyria or my childhood or anything.Why would you ask such a stupidquestion? Your father should havebeen a monk. They come to thiscountry with money. Money, moneymoney. Why do you think it has takenso long? Oh,…
What birdwas thatthat justflew throughmy mind?
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