when i couldn’t speak she drew me a circle there were no words to communicate the shape i didn’t understand but her circle did not close and it turned outward on itself and i was sad to see it stop. she called it “spiral” and i begged for her to complete it until it reached […]Read more "ex nihilo"
In the world, there is forever fever: We read the signs, blazing in historic orange. We straddle our majestic fates, ride our caution horses up to the edge, and prepare ourselves to be known, We drop our weapons in the dust, and unveil with the other prairie dogs—a global disrobal. We read too much tar […]Read more "Exquisite Cognomen or “How to Name Our Pain”"
something moved, sparkled and i began untying knots nimble fingers rifling through the jewelry box, digging deftly sorting rings, hoops and chains and things with teeth, gathered them up and plucked them out, separate as harp strings. the stories came tumbling then, and ghosts breathed out, back into incarnate skin, turned to dance but stumbled […]Read more "song bird"
we live in body storage stacked bedrooms and balconies under grey summer skies. tufts of wild clouds hang an old man’s silvery eyebrow over the jaundiced eye of dimmed sunlight threaded with black and tangled storms. amber-lit, square windows filled with soft, rounded people in a North Chicago apartment building. multi-lingual televisions yell behind doors […]Read more "Rainy Chicago Summer, 1980"
On a beautiful August evening, David and I took a walk around Mount Tabor before bed. The city lights were muting the sky with a pale tangerine glow and it wasn’t quite dark enough yet to view the Perseids, which everyone was there for. Couples were out strolling in hand-holding pairs, while giggling duets echoed […]Read more "How To Watch The Stars Fall"
the mother cradles her infant, a tapered cocoon in the crook of her left arm, from the white blanket, a lick of crow black hair floats up— dark down, feathered fingers towards a distracted frown. she does not look down into the pink rosebud of her daughter’s upturned face, the glinting grey pebbles of her […]Read more "we used to write love letters"
As a young woman, my mother’s long auburn hair
swept the back of her thighs
and the wind pulled it behind her
like the dark, red scream
of a horse’s mane.
The 19 year old boy at the Texaco service station Balances and rotates my tires Well after 4 and nearly 5, happily, despite the hour and the slightest frown from the cashier. And I follow him, ducking in and out of the garage, moving aside when he brings out the jacks and lifts and lines […]Read more "Texaco"
It’s raining and I’m carrying a cardboard box under my umbrella. This box banged up against my hip squared under one arm, a cube-shaped child waiting to be filled. My moving box straddles the narrow hip saddle where babies, baskets, and boys ride alongside. Women were built to carry the weight of the world. I […]Read more "Fragile – Keep Dry – This Way Up"
We’re standing in the kitchen of my grandmother’s house. It is a room where I spent many formative hours as a child. Behind us is a circle of dark brown cabinets, swirled with the brushstrokes of the original stain, all of which have knobs with a bright orange flower in the center. The dishwasher with […]Read more "Photograph / Memory / Sketch"