Tag Archives: Martha McCollough

The year two thousand seemed so far away, a promise glowing in the blue light of futurity. And then it arrived, bringing nothing but more of same. As a species, we’ve only been walking around counting things for twenty thousand … Continue reading →

Past the mountain of salt. Gumball factory mattress factory skylight and sausage, charleston chew, my egypt. Here’s where I think of you. The bridge wrapped and fuming, shuttering zebra sunlight, panic bubble I control with death grip and no looking: … Continue reading →

After hungry ghosts come animals, then the human world. Why have we stopped? Has there been an accident, or is this the experience we paid for? Our gondola rocks at the apogee. Please be still, please don’t overturn this creaky … Continue reading →

I wave my hands around: nothing happens. I’ve got the manuals, read the instructions, but I can’t fix a faucet or charm a bill collector; when the window screen tore I stopped opening the window. And that smell—I mixed the … Continue reading →

Cicada’s electric buzz, itchy stillness, days of furious heat. The two-story word on the empty building is my name, misspelled again. These are called tree of heaven, because even though nobody wants them here they are, growing from gutters and … Continue reading →