in the South, a body might do that, orit makes a body feel some type of way.Here rounding at the knees to support the body as it carries my keepingsup the hill; wrists in coats as a bodywalks around the city; picked a hair from my shoulder, but it wasn’t my hair.A body can confide. …
The settlement, or rancheria of mission Indians, after being established was placed in charge of a trustworthy Indian, Hipolito, from whom it took its name of Politana [located in the San Bernardino Valley]. The little mission flourished exceedingly until 1812, which was known as “el ano de los temblores’’ (the year of earthquakes), when the …
When I was a child, everything was perfect all the time. I was long planned for and executed with great care: my mother dressed me in tailored suits, flounced petticoats, buttons shaped like clocks, sheepskin coats, electric-blue felt, coordinated layers of hot pink and purple, drop waists, sequins, Peter Pan collars with scalloped edges, oversize …
from section Four: No One Who Played with the Rolling Stones Ever Lived on Norris Crescent Even five months, six months, seven months later, you still live among boxes. You arrange them into makeshift walls, section off the part of the living room with your desk. This is your study, itself like a giant cardboard …
Her name is Miranda, and she’s an Engler on her father’s side, raised to be proud of the good her family did during a troubled time. To this day, at every family gathering, an ancient Engler is helped to their feet to tell the story of the weeks, months, years after the Battle of Gettysburg, …
I was feeling nostalgic the other day while talking to my wife about the malls of New Jersey. I was surprised she didn’t remember the Woodbridge Mall, the one with the tigers. She’d grown up in Wilmington, Delaware, but that wasn’t so far away. “The TV show?” I said as a memory jog. Nothing. So …
The Father, Deceased He appears in a hospital hallway. On the front porch of her home in Phoenix, with a clipboard in his hands, polite and distant, like he might ask her to switch internet service providers. Passing by on the sidewalk in Riley, the town where she grew up. Leaning out of his yellow …
Every six minutes another word is dropped from the lexicon. Who says there’s no use anymore for woolfell,the skin of a sheep still attached to the fleece? And when did we stop calling tomatoes love apples?I need somewhere in the world for there still to be a fishwife who understands the economy of fleshgrown taut …
The velvet ant is not velvet, not ant. It is a wasp, grooved with sting. If scooped into the muzzle of a lizard, the velvet ant (not velvet, not ant) jackhammers. Its whole body is ammunition. They call it cow killer. Yet it is beautiful, too: encased in orange & white thistle. Spotted red & …
When at lastthe last fires burnt out upon the prairie,trains could be heard passing,mournful as whales. There’s no remedy to beingsecond-rate, I heard the brakeman sayas he & his red light were pulledforever into Missouri. But still I waitedfor you like a radio tower, blinkingquietly in the night. See more poems from Issue 17.1 by …
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