Near death, sometimes the hands curve into themselves like claws. I held my mother’s open, smoothing the fingers, trimming the wild nails. Once, years before, my husband and I awoke to a fawn caught in the family compost, a hole on its back end festering with worms, and he pinched each one out swiping his […]
I confess now I have begun to henna my red hair gone dull in parts and penny bright in others. And I always tried to subdue its wildness. But when the hull of our marriage busted rock and began to leak, we both thought it was a good idea to renovate the kitchen, together, by […]
In the end, my mother’s shoulders, barely covered and quivering, were like birds. Once, I made a dress for her, the fabric creamy white, the print a single brown tree spanning the width, with stark branches. It was 1974. I was fourteen. Each night, I taught […]
The deceased leave behind their voices. Some in shoeboxes Stacked in the back closet, Others under creaking steps, In leafwhisper, water murmur, highway hum. Most, middle of the night, seek us out With their quick-and-dead singsong. Disembodied, tremulous, Gusting down Off the pine-sided hill. An uncle’s high tenor; an aunt’s thick alto. A whole ragtag […]
I have decided to blame no one for my life. – Robert Bly Winter morning all hollowed-out, Whistling its one-note ballad. Morning bark-stripped, sanded-down, Held over a flame. A woodsmoke Morning piping clear across Childhood back pastures. Let me wake early to cop the riffs Of this bygone morning song. Let me stomp out with […]
that he was too quiet to ask and i to offer. shy beggar— watery eyes like riptides and his voice disappearing into the bricks.