Nothing better to do than watch each drop of Cytoxan shimmydown a see-through tube to anoint the chosen vein.You could turn to the window’s maple, smoldering in autumn sun,to catch the precise nanosecond when leaf detaches from limb—stare down a likely candidate, curled and tinged with brown.A nudge from the windmight encourage the scene along,but …
Anish Kapoor, At the Hub of Things, 1984 In larval dark, an early instar of music, blue Burns cold in uncreated space, bloomingInaudible, un-auroral, into the almost visible spectrum The first low indigo note, under the silence, a thrum.The odor of overripe fruit blown close in summerDusk. Heavy with sugar, purplish in its cloud of …
As hollow as a gutted fish, a hole in the sand, a cistern cracked along the seam— There is no filling such emptiness. And yet— Stitch it shut. Pour and pour, if you wish. Wish and wish, but it’s wasted— Water carried to the garden in your cupped palms. Might as well seal an ember …
“I want to see some history.” -The Sex Pistols, “Holiday in the Sun” (1977) In January 1977, I move from Los Angeles to a fancy, old-fashioned London hotel suite, where I live with my mother and little brother for two months, long enough that we run out of money. We leave the city in March, …
A painting of the Virgin hangs at the foot of my bed. She wears her sacré coeur like a brooch, fastened with a sword through her chest. Mary’s sacred heart is crowned with flowers, just as gravestones are. I wish I were capable of such vulnerability; a provocateur, a coquette, a fetishist. She’s the foremost …
And like this my mother can stand, lost in thought over the slightest movement, a mere moment, five seconds, an old newspaper by the side of the road that lifts with the wind of a passing car, comes to rest again once it’s gone; the first potato that sprouts in the cellar and can soon …
(Between South Second Street and the Whitewater Gorge) I make my way along the old railbed where the train used to run on the eastern edge of the Whitewater Gorge. The train rolls through town on a different track now, but on quiet nights, or when the wind is blowing in the right direction, its …
When I am thinking about leaving my husband, my friend reminds me of that poem we both like where you sit and watch the boats on the horizon, which are all the lives you might have lived. When I am trying to decide what I want, out of the realm of what’s possible, I watch …
March 6, 2017 Well, well. Welcome to Catherine’s word journal for the MELVIN Project. I’m only a long-term temp (a “long-term temp,” what an idea!), so it’s an honor to be chosen. If I reveal anything too personal, don’t hold it against me, Doc, ’cause I like this job, even though it’s only for eight …
He’s waiting in the red Colt to pick up Rachel from her teaching job. She’s good with the seventh graders, the bright ones sprinting toward Ohio State, the ones who will drop out in a few years, the ones who will be pregnant soon, the ones who will die early in knife brawls or absurd …