When spring comes, I go naked to the lake near the hospital where I was born, and there is my mother, she has brought me a dress made from this…
Header photograph © Olivier Schopfer.
sprawled figures basking in the impressionist sun shooting through a break in the clouds he said you are forest thick brush strokes of my outdoors a window opening on landscapes…
She keeps asking what it takes to be saved: pray they say get naked publish. Drink Prosecco in early evening, whiskey for the witching hour; drink until…
mother said, the lies were necessary to keep her children sane. the most common lie in the world is a smile: mouth full of dust, I too…
I haven’t been sleeping very well, Baby. It’s been a while since I’ve last held you. My left eye keeps twitching and at this point, I’m about ready to gouge…
We could form a work-party, you and I, take a couple of days, once more shovel winter’s detritus from the dock –– brown cedar sheddings, broken twigs the empty bait-pots…
South of the street signs, new buildings are being propped upright by paper dolls in hardhats and wool coats. Consider wondering about the sky, the naked trees, the pigeons with…
Our baby would have been a bright star, I tell him one morning after the miscarriage, though I don’t think he picks up on the tense, the way would have…
And I’m sorry if I dissed you. -Modest Mouse A German called out more light when he was croaking. I coughed so hard last night. I was only joking and…
For Federico Garcia Lorca words came and that’s the trouble. blood came too, but you had them running from their mother’s house without it. into trees and up the pagan…
the rain in san francisco is all hands holds herself in my back pockets have you ever been to a corner store filled with ginger ale and gods rowing paddle…
Header photograph © Jason D. Ramsey.
“Because the way you grow old is kind of like an onion,” Eleven by Sandra Cisneros You’re sixteen and you’re stuck / in the onion layer of fifteen fourteen thirteen…
I can tell you about how I first tasted this chocolate (fine & raw’s cacao + coconut chunky) at the Brooklyn Flea and it was January and snowing and my…
I remember the terribly delicate spread put on for the family by the Presbyterian Women before my mother’s funeral. I remember the pink tablecloth and the linen napkins. I remember…
the sculpted lines around your eyes chiselled dimples cavernous reminders of something less than satisfaction maybe i pulled at your strings too hard …
That January evening, there is no winter. Just the shine of frost on your suit jacket as I invite you in. I say, take this off, take this off take…
