Ruth Stone’s most recent collection, Ordinary Words (Paris Press), won the 1999 National Book Critics Circle Award. She teaches Creative Writing at SUNY Binghamton.
Pantyhose; lotus-foot of the west, iron maiden of her sex, pseudo chastity belt. On a clothesline they present the lower half of her that kicks and screams in mime. These are the blood constrictors. Some come in plastic egg shells; commercial embryos. The contortions she goes through to smooth her legs like silk, wrestling these […]
At the doughnut shop twenty-three silverbacks are lined up at the bar, sitting on the stools. It’s morning coffee and trash day. The waitress has a heavy feeling face, considerate with carmine lipstick. She doesn’t brown my fries. I have to stand at the counter and insist on my order. I take my cup of […]
My daughters are getting on. They’re in over their hips, over their stretch marks. Their debts are rising and their faces are serious. There are no great barns or riding horses. Only one of them has a washing machine. Their old cars break and are never fixed. So what is this substance that floods over […]
The sheep dog is barking and biting the man. The sheep dog thinks the man is a sheep. The man is only trying to catch a bus. He works as an actuary in an insurance office. He sits all day in a small pen playing with digits. He has the blas. It’s enough to make […]
I am lying full length on the grass, turned toward you. resting on hip and elbow, my cheek against the spread fingers of my left hand. It is mid-summer. My breasts are pendulous, my eyes half open; a damp sheen of sweat highlights my face that is more naked than my naked body. My stomach […]