If you were to go there alone you would find whole branches rising by themselves from the floor . . . You would see leaves and pine needles leap off into the still air, and return. There are animals in that forest without voices. Songs drifting through, like fog. Slowly you would notice the trees…
Taking yourself seriously is much more difficult even than having others take you seriously. Women aren’t trained to it. On my very first date, for example, the guy gave me five bucks to bet on my own horse and when I won I had to ask him what to do with the money. Do you…
In a thin flowery gown, out of season, draped in a bizarre gauze shawl like a new kind of insect, she sits at a table dipping chips and looking through us, thinking of nothing to pass the time. Living on the inside of time, she is waiting to come out of her own perfect body,…
I was never beautiful. I learned by heart the octaves of grief and the peculiar phrases of a man’s desires. Mine was the chord seldom struck; oh they gave me an arm to walk over the esplanade. I walked with the arm. They stood near the edge, watching, humming the ruse of the borrowed car…
We have learned a Mandarin language, an ingrown puzzle binding us to talk to one another— the many ones and others—to disengage with unfixing clarity our actual selves as figures from their grounds, the sheets of glass or broad leaves that hold rain like beads of sweat on a high arched, double arched, romanesque brow…
Killing anything was pure accident. A dumb stalker, a worse shot—I went almost daily, to the woods. A favorite prey was slow and shallow: a brook. I’d say, as it moved languidly: Don’t move, you rascal! And when it did, of course, as it does, I’d shoot. I liked that: no wound, or at least…
First, let us move away, but leave behind us The grand piano, the Steuben glass, books and Phonograph records, what might distract us, And since this is a real journey—surrounded By stars and their shadows and what is beyond Them—we will not travel. We sit all day and night and watch the moths Eat our…
A year before I found what was new: a stream sizzled over stones, August heat rattled the ocean’s brittle edge like a loose pane, a field where weeds like needles poked the wool of thick air. Usually eyes say no to thorns and stick to roses. Today even you saw that ponds brim with sky…
An especially forlorn specimen Answers a marriage ad On a street of compulsory misfortune One drizzly November afternoon Sorrow with its sidekicks and damsels In a diningroom with a pianola which the subway rattles from time to time A cup of tea with her eyelash floating in it Cakes the size and color of a…
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