This is your magic: the bitten lip, half-parted door plump architecture of the mouth home to your tender tongue, which tastes of champagne and St. Germaine. We dance in beads we found on clearance stockings and combat boots charms that snick and...
Her grandfather seemed to remember Commercial Street, though he remembered little else when they picked him up on Sunday afternoons at the nursing home—not his daughter, not his granddaughter. “Time for your outing, Mr. Moran,” the...
Come, day, and take with you the last shantyboy, stumbling past his still-made camp bunk and into the woods. Snuff the redundant lamps, oust the last sliver of the moon from its glowing place. Even now, I feel you, repainting the gray leaves outside...
>_ Invincibility is yours. you blink in and out of existence nothing can touch you >_ you are now impervious to the following elements: fiery passion tears earthen resolve breezy laughter >_ never in your 99999990 lives will you ever find...
Ayotunde’s smile is the only smile I ever see in that place. First thing in the morning I start my rounds whilst the night insects are still frolicking, hours before the heat has risen or the earth’s dust has been disturbed. Most of the patients are...
We’d got a job laying paving next to the Tate Modern. Deano’d never seen the Thames. Never worked in London before. “You’ll not fish in that, Deano,” our gaffer said. “Looks like a river of muck,” said Deano...
“O mighty totara tree, you have fallen to the Axe of Death—Death, the swallower of greenstone jewels. The people lament and mourn. The heavens also made lament, the storms arose, the lightning flashed, and the thunder rolled along the sky. Then too...
If I tell you when I was six I remember climbing a tree, falling, and breaking my wrist, fine. Now let me tell you the tree was an elm whose leaves showed the first yellow tinge of the young autumn. Purple and white clovers dotted the yard my father...
Margie refuses to let me sleep. The nurse rattles my service tray, adjusts the drip. Cold fingers constrict my pulse. She counts down the seconds by watching the clock above my head. “How’s your pain, today, Mr. Johnson? Can you give me a number?”...
I leave to my son a good memory— his father lifting him onto the back of a pony walked through Jersey waves that lick the city’s edge like a cherry cone, the dusk sky cheering his bravery with plum and orange bannered onto clouds trailing across the...
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