2019 20 11
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...falling into that breathing abyss, and she can feel her heart pounding against it. A falling and falling that’s never ending. Frightening. How hard the thump will be if ever she lands. The darkness continues to breathe all around her.
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17892017
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My glasses fog up every time I go to collect her from the pool. I'll never get used to glasses. When my sight got suddenly worse the day she was born, I didn't tell anyone. As she turned from baby to child, my love for her grew, and my world got smaller,
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23032013
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disorderly black squirrels / inhabit upper Michigan
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18072013
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I heard today about your friend
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14622014
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In the bearded sun, I see a golden goat.
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32192011
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Maybe you should consider a few more things before embarking upon actual rescue, like: Is the victim hot? Not stove hot, idiot. Beauty hot. Will this be a triumph to save this person (like perhaps they are some Nobel laureate), or are you risking you
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9452012
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I say her- it might be him-/
but from a distance I supply the details I prefer.
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1331208
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Phoebe-Lou Adams wrote this of them
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15302011
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...he thought often of the rollicking waves, of being pulled under, of being weightless and senseless...
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10382011
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There was a form to it, not reproduction. I wanted to write Moby Dick without a man in it. [I wanted to write Moby Dick with only a woman in it.] But I didn't do it. It's like a seven-year diary, and it did happen. I might write it as memory then.
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1406205
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He tells me that only a few things had happened in his life but some of them he had felt deeply.
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16052012
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I drove to you in April / and you loved me all through Illinois
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17032015
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The tailfins of our ’57 Plymouth Fury dip and rock from the stress: Three boys—say no more?—jumping into the car. And Dad, loading suitcases into the trunk, working them around the steel cooler heavy with Cokes, root beers, ice. He slams the trunk lid dow
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1981208
|
Writers, hopeful ones, hopeless ones, poets and petty penmen, worked as bartenders, librarians, substitute teachers, anything.
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14342018
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13552011
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We invent our beauties//
as we find them and engineer/
our horrors
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19712014
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The ethnographer turns on a recorder. The story began before but that is lost, like it never happened.
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2017209
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My son thinks he's French.His accent was cute at first, but it's starting to get on my nerves. If he asks for another glass of Beaujolais I'm gonna go to jail for child abuse.Yesterday, I walked upstairs to make him turn his new Jacques Brel album down and I swear it…
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13652011
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When the car arrived, Kitty bounded out, lipstick-stained cigarette dangling, silver hair tightly teased. We could not escape her hug, smelling of peppermint and Aqua-Net and Jean Nate.
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15752013
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I sprinkle seaweed over the water and all twelve rise to feed. Two of them went down the hole but knew to come up. A toilet has mouths and caverns, not a bad place at all for fish.
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1524208
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The music, Antonín Dvořák's 'New World Symphony,' the second movement, 'Largo,' immediately alters my mood.
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1455209
|
Leaves dance their way down,unfazed by this September heat. Bus stop routines set already-summer ended years ago.A chipmunk scampers undera parked truck while once againthe young man does his morning…
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1678203
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“This is the most dangerous road in the world and you want to drive down it. You crazy,” he said.
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15702013
|
A tiny story, 55 words, just enough to fit on a . . .
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21032015
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I tell my friend, the animal lover, not to get too near the panther's cage. "Why not?" she asks. "You'll see," I say.
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11562012
|
Our ironies don’t make us happy
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14431914
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Sure, to a teacher, life is a paper / but what would life be to a druggist?
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43201912
|
It was a sore molar that was giving me trouble, on the bottom right. The dentist, about whose adulterous affairs everybody in the neighborhood knew and whispered about, ts-ts-ts'ed me and murmured "decay" before pulling out the drill.
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21751911
|
My handwriting, slow in coming over many years, is good for lists, but I don't want to read sentences or write in it. Amber is on a list I wrote of things I want to remember of Russia: Rasputin's death and Peter the Great (6'7”). One of my lists I read as a poem in…
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1612198
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You would think when a bowl hits a tree the sound would be fierce, a loud clatter as stoneware explodes on birch bark dispersing shards in daffodils and grape muscari, but the noise is gentle, a thudding clink like empty bourbon bottles rattling hollow in…
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