Magicians Father raised bright tiger lilies and roses the color of the sunset, that slow, daily apocalypse. Trumpet vine and Copa de Oro, orange and gold as the wildfires that ate up our dry hills each Fall, when the wind began to howl and rattle our old wooden house. Some nights, we were a family […]Read more "Magicians"
His poems aren’t polished, they say. She starts each reading by reciting her resume. It bores us all. Why does she keep coming around? He’s old. His poetry doesn’t wear well on the page. All her poems are about the same. Who else in this city numbers every poet’s flaws as if all people aren’t […]Read more "After the Reading, they Search for the Perfect Poet"
“Your poetry— I liked it…I guess,” I shrug again as we stand next door to each other’s writing. The famous one got paid again for his flushed, important thoughts. The things I read are poker chips, I guess. He’s only “poetry famous,” they say, like that will even out the game.Read more "Paying The Famous Poet After the Reading"