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We named her Big Cat—I don’t know why. Maybe because she was already grown when we got her, unlike the kittens we’d seen in the pet store window that Dad wouldn’t let us have.
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1962, What I wanted was a Levittowner rancher like my best friend had,
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The hotel sits on the highest point in Shimla: a place of cedar-scented air, an aggressive monkey population, and summer houses left by the British Raj.
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I separate my thoughts into two / camps
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Translation’s not required—music/
sings itself complete and comprehensible
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By fiddling with the time space continuum and mixing in liberal quantities of quarks from his "Li'l Bang Dimensional Digester", Larry created an entirely new universe in his garage. This was a flagrant violation of Cosmic Law. It could not be ignored, nor
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Some of us, however, turn our secrets over in our souls, churning them with the fury of the howling winds of a January night. They are eroded and shaped and fine-tuned with the precision of a jeweler; the deeper and darker they are, the more brilliant of
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"It was John-Darren who once told me that he felt sorry for women."
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I have a ninety two percent rejection rate.
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You may be wondering, as is only natural, about the designated husband of our dear Princess.
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Swatches of Chinese silk in vivid red and lavender fly through the air. My granddaughter in her mid-thirties reaches for the cloth. I see in her mirror a shape forming; a slim, gray haired woman with a spring in her step. I pause to admire my reflection and pass over the…
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suddenly she blurts out: “You are vulgar.” There is actually no perfect translation to it. “Bastos ka.” She meant I was vulgar, but also disgusting, distasteful, offensive, rude, salacious, obnoxious…
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We all tell them/even when our mothers
warned us only the Devil/tells stories
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Magdalena followed the receding tide, her tiny feet leaving no rumors in the hard sand. She gathered only the most beautiful shells and presented them to her waiting Abuela. Her grandmother told her that the only things that a woman truly owns are her dreams. She told her…
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I could feel myself slipping back into my old ways again and it always hurt like hell.
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You’ll say you should have known. You’ll blame my music.
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Cat summoned for jury duty in Boston
Wayward hawk loose inside Library of Congress finally caught
(God only knows what happened to the doves)
Vacaville roof collapse blamed on bird droppings
These are a few of my favorite things
Piano mysterio
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She also castrated her cat. All by herself...with her Swiss Army Knife. And not with the blade either.
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he wanders the house/ crying for the hairless tomcat/ (gone for the night/ on an overnight job).
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The capsules tumble around, one of them plinking against the crown in my upper-right jaw. I hate the crown… a mute reminder of the first time Brad hit me. Swallowing the capsules, my tongue probes the left side of my mouth, finding the other two crowns…
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the late snow, though not welcomed...
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"I have consulted the Internet," the man remarks, squatting low, sorting through a mountain of tablets. He snags two and stands slowly, confidently, and I realize suddenly that he is Moses. Two iPads, cradled surely in each wrist, glow with lists.
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In an authentic Irish pub in Las Vegas where over much crowd noise the three of us are discussing Yeats, Joyce and Lady Gregory. We’re in an Irish pub after all, plus the fact we’re literature profs attending a Vegas academic conference.
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1. Research how to locate and outline the chin of a toy terrier. Find a toy terrier, outline its chin, then count the hairs on said chin to determine the number of lines your poem will have.
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It was 6 a.m. when the phone next to the bed awakened Francesco.
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