And then we know. . . That if the dead by any chance returned We would not know them, that the cherished few With whom God chose to part us do not miss us. . . __________________________ Anna Akhmatova The last time I saw all night on the horizon the red horse grazing I was […]
Because they flicker like stars of the twelfth magnitude and have come all the way from the Bering Sea through the Gulf of Alaska up the glacier-gray water of the Copper River and then curved their backs to the plunge of the Hanagita where they rest now, or have fallen half conscious into this small
Mr. Nakamura is clean-shaven and smells of hospital soap. He sits in his wheelchair, as we all do in ours, gazing at a star on the polished tile floor through his round eyeglasses. He has told me about his second stroke ten years after the first, how it has left him unsure which way his
Kathy Waltzes with Mr. Nakamura Read More »
Then the last being fell away from my face into the blindness of shadow. On my tongue words took the shapes of semen. I was bruised all over, but I opened my eyes one final time. There were the ferns. There was the oak tree dripping rain. I confused the shine near my throat, its
The raped woman with a paintbrush in her hand. She has forgotten for a moment what she is painting, the dripping color so like the breast feathers of a purple finch. She breathes the origins of the paint: vinyl polymer, quartz, silica from sand, the water of a river. Pushing the wet hairs flat against