Some people are like cats. If you hold them too long, they will bite. So she stretched out across the cruel unbroken, rolling flatness of the Midwest to Chicago. Mrs. Dalloway among the macramé, finds her sheets in the rehabbed SRO clean and tight. On her nightstand brown bottles, and tan bottles; a découpaged […]
Sarah Best‘s poems have appeared in The Yale Review. She’s an alumna of New York University. She’s an artist and writer who lives and works in Madison, Wisconsin with her fiancé Daniel and rambunctious tabby cat named Daisy.
Watching The Master Builder the other day, I was struck by the long stretches of total unconsciousness on the part of the main character. Filled with long exposures of trees and light, scenes shot on a train, distract from his Faustian struggles. On Wednesday night I’m seeing you, I’ve got one foot here and here’s […]
“Leanness shrivels up her skin, and all her lovely features melt.” Ovid Narcissus lingers, sighs— “How soft you are,” stroking. In this daily veneration, I enlist a stalwart humectant from the drugstore. The timing circumscribed, you must […]
“Nothing remains except her bones and voice.” Ovid I’ve chosen quilted combat boots, for the waiting room today, camo pants in a soft palette of grays, an alert-red t-shirt whose neckline gently scoops around the anniversary necklace. They’ve mailed a […]