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Monthly Archives: February 2022
Powdered Milk
Powdered milk made sly appearances at my childhood breakfasts, bluish and thin, with a nasty taste that took a moment to bloom in the mouth. Mom mixed it in empty milk jugs, whether to save money or rotate the food … Continue reading
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Cracked Wheat
Montana mornings, when cold siphoned water out of air to paint feathers on windows, when breath clouded around us in white drifts at the bus stop, were mornings for cracked wheat. Steaming, soaked in milk and honey, we ate hard … Continue reading
Carey, Idaho, 1953
Waist-high in golden alfalfa, still in Sunday clothes, mother and dad peaceably move up a generation. His wife lightly shifts the baby and smiles at her in-laws, a real smile, not the type she’ll flash in future photographs. Now, baby’s … Continue reading
Ephram Pratt Lines the Mountains of Regret
Condense the oceans of soft delight and winnow them into dying streams draining the mountains of regret from what everyone knows should happen, to the answers received in sad numbers by vagrant mining claims of burning illicit waste, like fulminating … Continue reading
Ephraim Pratt Mourns the Passing of Innocence
Weathering the air veins sequestered innocently among the pines lining the lonely ridge, and the junipers seeking repose from ancient miners, from Indians climbing the mountains & hills of history, avoiding the voices of the past, the sounds of trees … Continue reading
The Price of Entry
soft serve on sand to catch the view parked up nearby. even if this fall through scree is higher and at a distance from us our heads are out into the bay. we are getting to the real, a country … Continue reading
Holy Well
explosion of concrete painted Marian blue over the rag-tied offering of the hawthorn the unrobed holy well lifts her skirts to moist leaves, and dark furred blur of moss Angela Gardner is a Welsh Australian poet and artist. Her verse … Continue reading
A Low Land
My French-born, French-tongued father meets me in a French airport sometime in gray November. We were there by serendipity. He, on his third honey- moon. Me, on a visa to the homeland. But now, in a small rented car, we … Continue reading
Mastering the art of Valentine’s day
Seafoam like glue. My bones are halos. Teeth: soft white lightbulbs. Rosehip tea and butter cookies. Newports and Café Bustelo with the state psychopath. And I’m banned from certain apartments but who cares when the love was paying rent in … Continue reading
The Ambassador
They recalled the ambassador last night. By the time it hit the news, he was gone. It’s still always a ‘he’ when it comes to ambassadors here. They don’t trust ‘shes’ yet. They don’t trust him either, now. The ambassador … Continue reading
This One About the English Countryside
Hilltop, we clung with red-cold fingers, burnished cheeks and foreheads, scarves and orange peels swinging from our pockets. Here, where there are a thousand kinds of quiet: leaky morning, re- heated soup, tomato or chicken or onion. Carpeted steps, the … Continue reading
august, after lunch
legs splayed beneath the neck of the cherry tree you told me tales of last month when the fruit were ripe as rain, as breasts, as tender fisted eyes you gutted with bloody hands. how instead, we scooped finger-fulls of … Continue reading
pick & choose
pluck my green unripeness finger & thumb stained revolve me & examine how I shiver on your petaled tongue – held & unembraced soured youth & curdled gums a pinch for tender- ness, ripened weak & gushing & sweet & … Continue reading
Threnody
No fingers remove the husk Unscathed. In death the spines Of fish still purple cheeks. It’s the unspooling, reaching Back with blackened hands that Crosses time. Recall, softening Edges of mailboxes with Banana leaves. Smearing golden Grounds of coffee in … Continue reading
here and there
i never used to parse through words this way, turning them in my hands like pearls. palming the muscled backs of trees, listening for breath, for something slightly parted. how still, life remains in boxes, on cold sidewalks, on sagging … Continue reading
Listening to the Audiobook of The Bluest Eye
i am sitting hands-on-knees upturned the voice of Toni Morrison Herself is laying words like pearls in palms – fists behind my ears and heels. mama has fingers one-and-two on temple aimed up, parting question from conclusion as they slide … Continue reading
mother existed primarily over email
we made pilgrimage to Club Pardes for a ten-course breakfast, this time cucumbers, scallions, radish salad with sour cream, political correctness, abortion, it could have been anything, and it was only tuesday and six a.m. coffee takes guts. we talked … Continue reading
an ode to libras
i take pride in the fact i am not the same sign as my parents. astrology is nothing but faith. i once prayed to god, begged him to take me out of catholic school. it worked. i don’t dream in … Continue reading
a portrait of childhood
swapping last names like candy / uncovering the origins of this body / burying friendships from past lives / tucking ancient skeletons under my pillow / praying to the tooth fairy / my only friend in this life / at … Continue reading
what i dream on a tuesday night
peach tea dribbling from a lover’s lips / a home for lies i’ve stitched into palms of psychics / predicting me a new beginning from the lives i’ve shed like overgrown keratin / brushing onto the floor of your town’s … Continue reading
during thunderstorms i think of death
music notes foaming at the mouth / my hands a creation of moonlight and trust / i poke the bruises on my skin / ask my wounds if they feel yet / silence echoes my name / mimics my wails … Continue reading
Skeletons Walk South
He comes undone when an old woman on the street in Tucson snatches a loose thread on his suit jacket and jerks it loose. He shouts at her to let go, but she laughs and disappears around the corner, pulling … Continue reading
Letter Never Sent
ONE Two packs of Marlboros a day. Did I write that I tried to cut down my smoking three months ago? Well, at least I am getting that raise at my job. It should pay for the additional two bucks … Continue reading
House of Dawn
I rise from the corners of my bed. Through the small rectangular window, I watch the rose-pink light of dawn shimmer against the white walls of my room. It is the last day at Chungcheong, and I hope Father hasn’t … Continue reading
For Qi Hong: Setting Off Once Again
How come I seldom dream, you once complain But before returning to Songzi, where we grew Up together, you did have one, & one in which You run after me to catch a last bus at twilight You ask me … Continue reading
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