Listen—we are not discussing private matters. We are discussing how the rain strikes a teacup, a platter, a spoon. Left outside, they are vulnerable, the bare skin, the touch of water to metal or china— the tick tick tick—the clicking of a...
It is spring, and what you expected of its beauty has not yet arrived. Things are still a little too dead to wake up & break open. Soon the flowers will act like small, color-blown cups for the insects and the rain. A.R. Ammons steps out into the great open...
This is how it happens—he lifts the dress above your head and brings it down around your hands. You become a peacock, all feathers, all lace. You breathe deep, shrinking your frame as he fastens the eye-hook, zips up the dress. Then, the...
The body is pregnant with limbs and dismemberment—they tremble...
Humans are a series of feathers left inside-out. You are out in the rain, pacing from one eve to another, looking up at the splintered gutters, left cracked from last year’s Michigan winter. At the door, you take the world inside—one footprint from the...