His bony knees scrapetheir slow way towardthe passenger seat becausethere’s no rushing thisliving; the body is a congenitalgift, a boulder to impelthrough each day, its facelimned in rough beauty. Once tucked into the littleChevy, my…
Browsing Category Prose, Poetry, and Art
Ghosts Are Full Here as the Hungry Half Moon Rises
And so am I, full with the imprints of time and memory. I am rich in soul, yet I’m hungry for more. It’s not a feast I want: I want what singer Sam Garrett wants,…
China Relics
A response to China ending foreign adoption 160,000 of us—no more—maybe lessI hope we’re all still here but I would notblame any of us if a few were missing—we’re all missing—technically but are any of…
Imaginary Saints
I didn’t know I was a stuntwoman until I woke up broken.My husband said I’d fallen from a skyscraper, my best dive-bombyet. My children kept vigil at my bedside like tiny monks. I was supplied…
“Across the Street” & “Encyclopedia”
Across the Street Tree roots buckled the drivewayuntil weeds grew knee-highthrough the twisting cracks.Haggard men always seemed to belighting cigarettes with pale cupped hands.Even in winter they wore only T-shirts,each with a pack of Viceroysrolled…