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Cousin Rudy pulled up a cod /
out of season /
we were rigged for haddock, /
it was dressed for the weather
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no need to write it if you/
live it, conscious of the light, the/
shape, the sound, the taste, and shadow.
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Jesus came strolling
by in his sandally Jesus foot sandals.
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If you find a lone, sad honeybee, buy a Habitrail cage and make it your new pet.
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My eyes filled with tears when it entered my throat
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Can’t you do anything right?
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waves assaulted black volcanic rock in briny harmony
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A mile down the road, they found Denny’s. It was only four in the afternoon so there was no wait and the couple sat right away.
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It rises rigid and plumb from its heavy base, the severity of line yielding to grace only at the throat where it crests into a subtly constrictive pinch.
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That afternoon she met me in the lobby of my hotel and we simply smiled at each other in the elevator going up to my room where we sat on the couch for about three hours and told of our lives, of being apart, for so many years, then sensing our time was nearly used up, I…
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It comes to me at night, the monster. I don't even realize it's in the room until I hear it breathing behind me. It reaches out its hands and places them on my shoulders. Its fingers are furry and soft, but strong. They grasp the muscles on either side of my neck, and I…
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full of mad hope / we dash into the street / leap into the fray / and enter splendiferous lists
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That some adults believed the drill would save/
us from the blast of fusioned hydrogen//
amused us as we quietly curled along
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Who owns the moon? What title search/
could ever make a claim?
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Foolish boy, you chose
your parents poorly-
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I am Gloria, age nine, standing with my left hand on the green gate to the yard of the farmhouse that I will always consider Home
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It's 100 degrees in your tower/and that braid you're so proud of/is one hot ladder to nowhere.
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Where the Story LiesEverybody wants to knowwhere the story lies. Does itlie in childhood? Does it liein old age? Does it lie in anangry outburst or a stingingrebuke? Does it lie in a momentof compassion or in the recognitionof calloused selfishness? Bruisedlove or…
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You
sawed off my wings then
Asked
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I'm slim, baby, caramelized as a Slo-Poke buried in the fatty acids of some old dog's guts. The way they creep, frantic with finesse, free, locking their eyes in the dental mirror. It's wrong, maybe, but who'd dare to declaw them? Look at it from their angle, the one that…
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Jody wakes some days with pieces missing.
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We were over Casper, Wyoming, when some terrorists tried to take over the airplane. They had concealed weapons.
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After my vasectomy, I got a T-shirt with a picture of an orange on it. It said "All Juice, No Seeds."
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by Bobbie Ann Mason and Meg Pokrass
at The Nervous Breakdown website:
http://www.thenervousbreakdown.com/mpokrass/2012/10/tweeting-war-and-peace-with-bobbie-ann-mason/
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Christ walks the streets of Venice,/has long since become a regular . . .
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I am a romantic writer, true. But what comes after the romance is what fascinates me. A lover dying is the most beautiful scene I want to write. The most beautiful scene I have yet to write.
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