(1882-1919) 1. There are twenty-four hours in the day. Some red, sunset, fire, some green, pasture, seed. There are ten hours in a shift. Some pink, like sunset when sun marches in bright squares across the factory floor and blood leaves long...
She is made of hard edges and lacks purpose, arms stained with ink. She smells like cigarettes and lives restlessly on the edge of the world. He stands in dark shadows, walks rushed to the synagogues of Brooklyn and davens with his head up. He...
You’re about to return to the sky, to the rest that comes from soaring on the wind, then flapping down through the branches, to the forest floor, this land you’ve always known; traveling higher and farther, again and again, around the...
One morning, he could not find his father. His van was in the garage and his shoes were on the welcome mat, but he was not breathing beneath the covers in his bedroom, or scrambling his breakfast egg, or toweling off in the bathroom, or examining...
Day One Meet and greet in St. Petersburg. You are conveyed to your ship on the Neva by conscripts in shackles where you may play Repka (“radish”) and gnaw your ration of brown bread. [Your Gregorian calendar will have been exchanged for the Julian.]...
when she sews by moonlight grandmother plucks stars from the sky and strings them on a silver thread she sings melodies of mountains and stormy seas my head upon the solid hill of her thigh stardust like sugar on my lips my eyes close dreams drift...
When you walk in, I will myself to wrap my arms around you. I’m unfamiliar with your shoulders. I can faintly recall the way they first felt under my fingers when I was seventeen, and I often thought of them when I was in Colorado and Australia...
I cannot hear. I cannot see. I cannot touch. I cannot smell. I cannot taste. (I cannot locate my ears, eyes, fingers, nose, or tongue). I cannot rest. I cannot wake. I cannot dream. I cannot keep my teeth from falling out. I cannot sit down. I...
When driving, my dad would tell me tales. Of how quiet the bottom of a pool is. Of how tiny fingers press, cooling temples and skin as swirling currents pick and toss hair about. The air would curve, repelled from the hot car surface, glaringly...
Dear creator, holding the hammer, are you looking for a human being under this marble? Break off my arm, you won’t find blood but jagged alabaster. Crack my chest, you won’t find a heart inside this dense mass. Behead me, and watch the pieces litter...
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