Prose, Poetry, and Art since 1956
The boys were waiting when Hollis unlocked the door to the barber shop, milling in a cluster by the planter box. Two of the shortest ones sat on the concrete lip, their legs kicking at the brick. As soon as he clicked the lock open, they hopped down and all six came marching in, looking like they’d been pulled from a boarding school, dressed in…
I wanted to become a burning myth in my hot youth,pined for truth, but owned the largest voice to speak the smallest lies;from the centerof the wheel I ran nowhere fast, said littleof substance to drill through the noisy substrata— darkling days,twilight & dusk,talking shit,the rich, thick gloamof my young dumb life —shouting downfrom the tower overlooking Somerville’sblinking guts, to the Boston skyclose by. I…
As a child I still recall the legends of famed writers and their golden pens, seemingly handed down to them from Midas himself. Writers who inked themselves into the eaves of history while enjoying lives full of fame and riches. For instance, Charles Dickens’ alleged payment-by-the-word or Herman Melville’s hatred of writing (despite his lifelong commitment to it). While Dickens’s word-count-paycheck could explain his lengthy…
i’m a different woman in every room in the kitchen efficient operative as forkquiet in the bedroom tiptoe to avoid discourse the weight of telling youeverything is fine nothing happened in the bathroom confessional thoughts bendinto curve hungry as the dip that concludes my spine the volume of forward ofwoman who stays in the nursery nostalgic i summon the past …
for Louis burrito by starlight, red and green Cholulain the beard. Stuffed to our socks, let us dub this the first formal ritual to the pagangods of guac and fries, carne asada, jalapeño hit the tongue, the joint, tie-dye breaks, the jettywater moonset pacific. Recollecting yule tides, re-collecting gifts that we’ve been given,moments that always felt like ours to keep. Digging toes deeper into this…