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Tag Archives: M. J. Iuppa
All the rain I have dreamed, all of its steadiness, its down- pour squeezed from swollen clouds sweeping low—rushing quicksilver—a thousand pings of light, of dark water trembling in its blunder— my words curl up like garden snails balancing on … Continue reading
In this age of the Ash disappearing, we are stunned by the wood’s unrest, seeing the multitudes leaning, side by side, like refugees reduced to lines, collapsing in- to each other, and nothing can be done. No wind, or rain, … Continue reading
We ate an enormous meal together. All of us, in the old farmhouse near Ontario’s shores, eating and talking and not talking, and laughing really loud. We are loud. Half of us have a hard time hearing, which makes it … Continue reading
Sligo, Ireland, May 2019 I keep busy, even in a stranger’s home, I press my life (however, briefly) onto theirs. I open drawers to find a spoon; instead of one, I find a girl’s journal, with a near-perfect illustration of … Continue reading
Low tide, end of May, Sligo’s “shelly” river reveals its catch among rocks & reeds. Gulls drift lazy overhead—stillness trembles in shallows below—a flicker is enough to ignite hunger in one gull descending to pick the river’s pocket—fish or eel, … Continue reading
Six inflated blue exam gloves bound together— utterly prophylactic, strangely sputnik— hands floating on a string, hanging in the cubicle’s sunny window at my last infusion. I’m sitting in the chair where I began six months ago, full of held … Continue reading