— the Tibetan landlady and i ought to concede our brown fingers. she can’t grow tomato plants, hydrangea; i, no hope for pothos, Pittsburgh ivy, aloe; basil leaves, see-through. her son babbles all summer in…
Browsing Category Poetry
On High Street by Benjamin Sutton
— Let me draw your attention, says the gun. The sky litters stucco-snow, as we all drop. Beside me, a soon-to-be with a busted lip says, the guns in this neighborhood are getting more and…
Kind Surgery
— Your father had an ear infection so I lit a cigarette and blew smoke into his ear and like a damn fool started smoking again and playing those Hawaiian background music records until…
from Conversational, Ohio by Benjamin Sutton
— That was when one of the nieces said another was pregnant, her bones like scaffolding— placing all the steel bulk front-and-middle, structurally inept among her sisters. The too-tall-beauties. And that would have been…
Karuk Nation
1. Root, Antler, Fork, Braid His daughter Root. That wasn’t her name, and he called her that. I found her at the driveway’s end, a cruel-looking girl. I asked what was she doing out here…