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I know an old man who lives at the edge of the world, in Alaska, a town called Bethel. The first people arrived via ice bridge. Now we fly on planes. The old man lives with an old woman, his wife. He built the house they live in. He builds other things too, boats, furniture, …
Look again at that dot. That’s here. That’s home. That’s us … a mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam … the only home we’ve ever known.—Carl Sagan, Pale Blue Dot (1994) Drill, baby, drill!—Michael Steele, 2008 Republican National Convention Photographed from 18,000 miles in 1972, Earth had the lookof a marble, or so people …
Red-tailed hawk Redring from a milk jugencountered on the MisheMokwa Trail But it wasn’t that plasticpiece of dread No The redof someone’s pony-tail holder something shedas involuntarily as redblood cells Mariafatigued unknowing blamingage I blamed some unknownhiker careless I thought droppingtrash amidst the blacksage and juniper Whodrinks milk on ahike I should havethought but didn’t …
At six, I didn’t know more than riding a Schwinn and climbing banyan trees. “Do you believe in God?”the two blonde girls from four doors down asked as our bikes circled endlessly in figure eightsaround each other. Well, I suppose one girl askedwhile the other simply rode, silently and blonde. They weren’t twins, but a …
Getting older, you never got old.A gold mine of girl: doe-eyed, sold. In front of the shutter’s clicking,you did what he said, lens-fucking,muttering No hope for women. Piano to camera-ready, plucked at eighteen,barely steady, heavy with mood. Suddenly, you made scarce, laid low.Suddenly, a surprise: you arrivedagain, new world, sullen girls telling tales. Here’s what …
At the sentencing, a snake of painroiled inside her veins. She did notfaint or scream, or sink to the white tilethe way Alma did. She stuck her fingerin the ripped hole of her pocket’slining, she felt the inside of the woolcoat, the nowhere of material,that black hole of seam and stitch.She saw his face, blank, …
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 …
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