WINTER 2016 ISSUE
With every approaching storm,
the media drones like a plane overhead,
littering the airwaves with detailed promises
of what one needs to survive.
An obedient citizen,
I store batteries and bottled wate...
He had real clothes on for just two hours when
The medics cut him back open to try to
Make him breathe
Then they threw sterile packs
Like medicated snow all over
Pine floors so that when we came home
The lack of visits allowed me
to push away cancer
like starving children
in foreign countries.
The minutes were sucked
into ghost walls.
Through the tiny glass
window we saw the pale pate
shine under abr...
This skull had a tongue in it, and
“When a man journeys into a far country, he must be prepared to forget many of the things he has learned, and to acquire such customs as are inherent with existence in the new land; he must ab...
From the symptoms now my visitors,
the malady now my nurse.
The sickrooms that are her breasts,
the hospice that is her heart.
From the pills my straightjacket,
and the tourniquet now my jewels.
We tell my niece the scar
from her left hip to the soft frown
of her right rib cage is a shark bite,
as if tumor removal is scoffworthy,
as if a shark’s jaw is the shape
of a forsaken jumprope.
Missing sunlight, she totes stale darkness from room
to room, opening windows in invitation. She hums
private names for despair and hope, for gratitude.
Her new flesh tastes of grainy smoke a...
Her hands emit the hundred-garden floral
face-slap of Vaseline Intensive Care, filling
the Renault Estate. Sniffing, sickly, right to the back
of its family-size boot. I protest, but her hands insis...
Like a hand on my
shoulder, the warm
shimmer of late
summer sunlight falls
with red refraction
into the quiet bay.
I wonder tomorrow
what I will recall
of this moment.
Folds in the space
that time has made
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