Tag Archives: Nora Claire Miller

eleven

no blades anywhere. the busiest clock, the afternoon that aches to smell like breath, the chin in sloping hands, I found the elevator bed, South Street Seaport when all we had were bodies, just another ringing now, just a pair … Continue reading

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Softening

It was supposed to be a dream where I died at the end and by the beginning of the dream I was starting to die already. The taxi wrapped itself around central park and left a trail of me behind … Continue reading

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Exit

In the ending to the story I never write there are one hundred windows in the movie theater and the boy knows how to signal with a flashlight. Each time the boy gets hurt the morning breaks again, and a … Continue reading

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like light

after Lucille Clifton every morning i pull myself through sleeves from a night that was not elastic and a pair of mouths filthy with sleep. the high step down to carpet is a burial. and who are these people burying … Continue reading

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hummingbird

you will grow up and be different, she is telling me like telling means a thing. I sit on my bed saying the word aqueduct. there was a universe we kept, it’s yellow now, it does not sing when I … Continue reading

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