nothing apparently is imminent, but the extra weight; the hair increasingly, if not the texture, then the hue of the bristles in the wire brush you used to scrape the…
Header photograph © Charlotte Hamrick. Untitled document
In which joy and wonder are born out of darkness The bruises are gone but the ridges of your fingerprints can never be rubbed off by other, more gentle hands,…
Winter’s heart is tired, the center of the season something that beats only when the wind knocks against it the way a window cracks when birds mistake its shine for…
Our smallest hands pulled rattlesnakes from the weeds. They were infants like us. Pads of our index fingers patted their doglike heads, we laughed. They hugged their bodies ‘round our…
Worked me over something good Made me a jenny a heifer a mare Used the gifts I brought to bear My shoulders my muscle my mane Flaxen haired pony…. A…
No, I am not as old as the wilting membrane of earth – the skin of her secrets, too tightly breast-held and leaky. No, I am not as old as…
Another blue period in the front seat, Dashboard dented, the steering wheel frayed, We come together as everything comes apart, We just want to stop the peeling We take our…
Children hear of water-hoardings. Lorelei floating gold cups, coaxing gullible girls down. Ancient cities settled by kelp and shells. Rivers refusing tossed-in shoes, certain that boys thought dead are somewhere…
Smothered by sun and time / one sun drunk lizard / and me with my belly exposed / pine wood rounds / tree rings naked and orange / sap the…
for Mary “Mamie” Dickens Hush now, children, Father’s at his work. If faeries come to visit, please, speak in whisper voices, shhhh. Tidy up now, children. Hang your art…
I can’t hear anyone talk the refrigerator is buzzing I have homework we’re babysitting the neighbor’s dog Daddy comes home around six thirty, or seven, or eight It’s dark and…
bald rock-room, breathing sand drenched in the indifference to wildfires there are only two Basque people in Oakland we’re strangers and spend too much time eating ourselves our eyes are…
We will still walk hand in hand, talking each other down from our brittle edges and I will wonder if my mother’s blood has finally gone bad beneath the skin.…
I Among them, There is nothing, Collected, Five mango trees Two julie One East Indian A number 11 A hairy Their building A soliloquy on ancestry Their home slotted above…
We’ve learned: the mind may turn to leaky vessel with fealty and narrative tipping into emptiness. So when we round the blind curve of Gold Creek and the outline of…
autumn smells of an ashen orange leaf stretching on its cot of morning dew. i lift my window for the embers floating in the air. the Midwest has a kind…
Thump, the perpetual freezing / Thump – the virulence, the White-hot blaze of a heart under the tundra Limestone, basalt heart of memory – Heart of throughline gone relative at…
Walking in snow towards this young ash triggers memories that surge and well, overflowing as uncontrolled gasps of breath. This scar deepens with every visit; a vicious erosion, an abhorrent…
The blackbirds and the mourning doves that haunt the backyard feeder have me thinking need, the burning fuse that drives us all. And even though right now it’s wan and…