1215 16 7
|
Nothing about it//
is attractive- its color, it’s design,/
it’s market value. I leave it be and watch
|
12151311
|
the world slips under the waves
|
1215139
|
I don’t remember much about kindergarten.... The teacher’s name was Mrs. Halverson. She was nice.
|
121520
|
I remember being sent a picture once from one of my old roommates, Louise, back in Chicago where I came from. The photo was taken when she’d come out for a visit to California. In the picture I am sitting on the front stairs of my house in the Rockridge
|
12151711
|
|
121552
|
Roy Carver owned a big tire retreading outfit over on the Mississippi.
|
121512
|
she shivered in the ceasefire like a virginal nude brought to life.
|
121531
|
I am calling to tell you what’s going to happen tomorrow.
|
121411
|
of Jim Beam when I was maybe fifteen. Or anyway old enough to admire the lesson.
|
1214169
|
Have you ever spent twilight in a old pasture?
|
1214209
|
feeling empty as the
bottom of a bottle
dry as a bone
in death valley alone
|
121454
|
facts are facets are / things in the act // the truth speaks softly // as time saying amber / to the enduring sap // words come and go / like leaves like men // we the tree remain ...
|
1214128
|
I pointed, trying to keep a rising frisson of alarm from my voice.
|
121443
|
Prabo was late.
It wasn’t like him, I thought, sitting on the steps of the Galle Face Hotel, the Indian Ocean pounding the beach abutting the nearby Galle Face Green and spraying fine mist everywhere. Or at least it didn’t seem like him.
|
121433
|
He didn't want to read his father's statement. Yet still he lingered, poised over the kitchen table, where his father had left it.
|
121442
|
I was raised in a big city in the slow South. I know a little about cross cultural dining and where Delta Blues collides with Sly Stone, Al Green, and Zeppelin. Dirty rice in the Dirty South. Fried chicken, collards, and pintos. Fried velveeta…
|
121400
|
Solomon just makes people leak. Literally.
|
121472
|
This is what it is to feel yourself forget.
|
121454
|
Time has wings. They are bright and beautiful, like those of a butterfly. They are delicate wings, and they carry the years away from my decaying mind. I would break those wings if I could, for tomorrow I turn seventy-three, and I grow weary of their ince
|
12142311
|
Every Monday you brought your Sunday finest to the bus stop...
|
121420
|
Joseph K. ran a publishing house in the shadow of the Castle.
Perhaps “publishing house” is too grand a title. Joseph K. kept a battery of six or seven (depending on repairs) manual typewriters, a crate of carbon paper, and a large stapling machine
|
121430
|
Theresa Esposito woke to the smell of pignoli cookies baking. The sweet scent made her stomach rumble. She was ten-years-old today. And she felt ten. Her hair, her ears, her eyes, her toes — everything felt ten.
|
121453
|
Twenty-two tornadoes tore through Toronto, spiraling steel and stone to the streets where she stood, texting her best friend.
|
121473
|
How to capture in word, in song, the fleeting moments of our loveYou were hereAnd now you're goneEven as I used to lie next to you,bathed in the care and concern that emanated from your warm black brown eyes,I knew there would be that day, that you were no moreDestined for…
|
121464
|
. . . laughter and madness.
|
121445
|
Lawrence Light had two degrees: business and theology. I liked the clean font he chose for his resume. At the interview, his face was open. His eyes were bright.
|
1214115
|
I didn't believe in hiding secrets or broken arrows. So I told my new girlfriend, who in earnest, tried shedding pounds like ugly memories, who glued herself to my shag carpet, watching exerise videos--that I didn't sleep alone. I tried to be as sensitive as possible,…
|
121467
|
The last night, I shivered in bed until three a.m.,
the blankets wouldn’t work,
or the socks,
or my tears,
but I reassured my heart
that my next love would be warmer.
He was.
And our air conditioning bill was so high we could’t afford it.
|
1214119
|
skin cancer
walks along Zuma beach
at noon
|
121486
|
paper cuts, an old film unraveled
from its reel, risking exposure.
|
