Prose, Poetry, and Art since 1956
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, “More life, more blessings; more peace, more unity.” Through the years, I’ve discovered ghosts here in the ashes of people spread on the lake shore. By here, I mean “The…
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 usmissed? I would like to think so. I feel at home in museums, next to old, battered things,I wonder if this sense of belonging comes frombeing one of China’s relics—products,…
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 enough Gatorade to hydrate a rhino. Christmascame and went, and I reveled in being twined in lights, made to sitin the center of the living room as if I’d birthed…
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 into a skin-tight sleeveabove tennis ball biceps.They’d lean on the window of a carthat hadn’t moved for months,the hood propped up with a two-by-four,a half dozen greasy sparkplugs scattered underfoot.Sometimes…
In 1504, a small calico cleaned her paw near a roughwell. Two children threw sticks a few yards away. And the sun reflected off them and traveledback out of an atmosphere no one yet understood. This is how it always goes. It is no kind of magic. This is howwe see into the pasts of far away objects and the just- past we call the…