by Lynn Wagner | Nov 27, 2013
To move across the landscape like a lost springbok. A bounding, arcing comma pure and certain. She circles in a falling scrim of flake and snow, through fractalled water without weight. So, wild mind plows paths through the thick of it and thought gambols...
by Craig Beaven | Nov 19, 2013
In a city without winter the leaves don’t change-and-fall, they merely fall, without fanfare, without meaning. I was afraid to move here, where we knew none of the 4 million, and had no place to stay. The storm is just off the coast 40 miles away. It is passing across...
by Alison Prine | Nov 11, 2013
What did I want from her? I already know one half of life is to build, the other half for wind to dismantle. I know a person’s gait conveys the number of stones in their heart. I know history is being swallowed in the din of the television as the screens grow larger...
by David Lehman | Nov 3, 2013
I visited him three times. The first visit we spoke about T. S. Eliot’s play The Cocktail Party and the character he reminded me of, a sort of spiritual psychiatrist: a no-nonsense male authority figure with T. S. Eliot’s world-weary deep rueful skeptical...
by CM Davidson | Oct 26, 2013
If to a hammer everything’s a nail, Then to a nail everything’s unfixed. To the unfixed the world is storybook, And to storybooks love is to be read. To be read is to be fixed, to be nailed, To be hammered to wall or post or pike, The sign underneath the skull Roosted...
by Alexandra Teague | Oct 18, 2013
To hear her tell it, my mother was a housewife for decades in the 1950s—collecting blue glasses from boxes of laundry soap because life came piecemeal like that. Her husband’s greens slick with bacon fat like he liked them; all her winters down to cubes of ice in his...
