Most read stories

Obsidian

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Listen to me, at the end of all things, and I will tell you her story.

A Boy

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You said it was easier when you were ten and could play Risk with a girl and it was a game, not foreplay.

Once There Was a Way to Get Back Home

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I should have covered myself with leaves. I should have wandered farther from the path.

No One Will Ever Give You This Poem

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and say did you know it was written just for you? But I will. No one will walk up to you on the busy street one day and say did you know he loved you this much? But I'm telling you now. What good would a pyramid be or a hanging garden or a starry…

A Simple Explanation

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You are just another and I am only me. I give you full permission to be everything I don’t want you to be. In fact, I insist.

KADDISH

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My mother was a child of the death camps, passed her adolescence there. Survived.

Into the Wild Blue Yonder

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Then it got quiet again, the kind of quiet that fills a car even with the radio on and the highway ticking away and the corn flying past regimented and silk tasseled.

Automatic Typewriter

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Rowan’s arm burned and throbbed like the center of a neutron star as it went critical for minutes turned inside-out like hours. Standing in a wall, then huddled underneath the couch, she danced around the rim of consciousness, ripping at the seams of her

Aphrodite in Ruins

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He needed an editor for his Yale dissertation, the shifting borders between criminal justice and the internet. But the sex was inevitable. He was six two. I was blonde. I don’t think we liked each other very much, but that wasn’t important.

Holy Week

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one day I will take you / to Grenada

The Fountain

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The man looked at him for a moment, as if he didn’t understand him, “Mr. Wallace, you have a genuine miracle in your bathroom. This isn’t something that just wraps up.”

Still Life

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She was a moon dancer, keeper of secrets,

Polly

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I taught Polly to turn on a flashlight with his nose. It became his favorite occupation and he'd sit for hours with the light between his paws, watching the things it lit—sometimes jumping up to lick the wall. He'd shine it on our daughter's…

Lip

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He watches his paralyzed left arm arc across his body, then swivel around and disappear behind his back. He does this over and over again. He's very high and it makes him laugh.

Couple Busting

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you had to actually cross a damn street, vacate your brain, and say, "you two hellions are going to combust from all this torrid public defilement."

The Hamburger Story

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I didn’t like her. I like the name. You know I hate that name. I always thought you were funny. Maybe even more than you were mean.

The Imprint of Necessity

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I’ll tell you what I think, I think Their hopes of a brush with love Is what keeps the simple cricket Awake all night If you find a baby cricket on its back Fallen on the sidewalk Struggling with its legs In the air Help it to its fee

Sermon of Lilac

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The night was a lilac bowl of darkness

Celebrating Difference

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Because they boil bananas and I fry them.

Amber

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I am the marigold wheel no one can understand, the menace your grandfather warned you about. Yes, yes, that last phrase was overkill...

Things Left Unsaid

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I knew I was on the wrong bus, but jumping off was a death sentence. I was afraid, but by then I was used to that.

Tomorrow in Tonga

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What would you do today if you knew your time was up

Not That Kind of Pain

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What kind of pain is it?

The Infinite Monkey Theorem

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Yahweh’s a betting deity, as bad as Lucifer at times. If you don’t believe me, look at the duck-billed platypus. Yahweh lost that time. So did the duck, but that’s another story.

Bandits in the Afternoon Rain

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Somewhere there are fires burning in oil barrels, ragged homeless men warming torn-mittened hands―one day I'll be with them.

Polyester Purgatory

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They line the bar beside me. Talking about themselves and estranged children, while rubbing necks and wrists, searching for the pulse.

A Young Girl's Passage

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"There's a dead mouse in the toilet!"

Flossie’s Bordello and Bar-B-Q Shack

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The women of Bixby, Texas, united in their frustration and general thirst for arson, cheered as Flossie’s Bordello and Bar-B-Q Shack burned to the ground.

Pastoral Hide & Seek

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The sea dies where a cello torques on sand, leaving me without its compass. An old clock sings.

The barbarian at the gate, a work in progress

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I may even invite the little man, who lives in the closet, to come out and visit me: Come over here, pleasure me, let me sit on your pink latex face.