August Garden Overgrown, ravaged with insects, humming incessant sun, the lot of it buckles, sucks, sags and slumps toward autumn — all bursting, come to fruition, seeking divisions between sex and sex and death — breathing last breaths, heaving its seed toward next season. Stephen Jackson [he/him] lives and writes in the Pacific Northwest. His […]Read more "August Garden"
August It is no easier to escape August than January – late summer lassitude bows the asters, curls the sunflowers just as the blizzard quiets winter. My hammock is my sled hurtling with frogs in first fall of alder leaves, swinging over plums fried on the patio, watching the squirrel choose soft figs over peanuts. […]Read more "August"
My Bonsai Tree on the Southern Window Ledge in the Laundry Room To the nearly four-hundred-year-old Yamaki white pine bonsai that survived the atomic blast in Hiroshima and now lives in an arboretum museum in Washington, DC This small juniper. One clay pot awash in moss weathered for five springs below my garden Buddha. To […]Read more "My Bonsai Tree on the Southern Window Ledge in the Laundry Room "
Below is Part 7 of 23 monthly installments for Visitant. ◄◄ Read the prologue / introduction: Meet Agnes Person ◄ Read the previous installment | In The Pink Rescue Time for a fresh start. Sparing her bangs, Agnes Person has clear-cut her colored hair in select rows like a black and red Parcheesi board. The […]Read more "Agnes Person | Rescue"
It was the summer I was investigating my desirability in the typical foolish way of girls, seeing how many boys I could get to want me. You were living with that band, “Slut Magnet,” an unfortunate name for you, the only girl. We sat outside in the white plastic lawn chairs, drinking mimosas to the […]Read more "August Heat"