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Tag Archives: Jennifer LeBlanc
Her sister visits from South Korea, salt of the Pacific Ocean at her back. The mists of San Francisco, winds of Chicago, the still waters of clear lakes, swelling rivers— a wet spring, season of floods and sandbags— all of … Continue reading
In response to the film A Single Man. Falling is like this, falling into the night’s first vivid dream, twitch and release of held-tight muscles. Try and make yourself think of anything good— an owl lifting from its post toward … Continue reading
She notices them peripherally. By this, I mean they return— the storm clouds—in various forms, but she doesn’t connect them, always expects them to pass. Such obvious patterns, almost obscene in their similarity— the same tired walk of two people … Continue reading
Your patience with me is like a sun pumping a motor, drawing out the health in the fruit until it is ready to be ripe. We go to the theater that decorates with owls. Even the sconces on the wall … Continue reading
Sometimes I would swear I can hear the ocean, here in landlocked Wellesley, like those nights on Short Sands in Maine, obsessing over the word mirage— what was it, what did it mean?— and here in this green, dry town, … Continue reading
Through her I am tied to Ireland, and I relish this heritage most. If the French and English and rumored Dutch in my blood could congregate and collectively concur to allow a siphoning-out and leave me pure, I would bring … Continue reading