Fiction, Reviews

The Surrealist and Bodily Nature of Grief: Reading Kristin Bair O’Keeffe’s The Art of Floating

  Even when you read regularly, it takes time to find something truly great; but every once in a while, there will be a book, a poem, a story, that truly turns you on your heel, holds you in place, and keeps you loving, recommending and discussing that piece for months. Though first described to… Read More The Surrealist and Bodily Nature of Grief: Reading Kristin Bair O’Keeffe’s The Art of Floating

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Blog, My Poems

The Separation

  There was a moment when I thought of you, and I longed for water. Two black pitchers laid on the ground in the shadow of what must have been an old well. Their two mouths were crusted with the last snowfall’s ice. Their mouths like two ovals learning how to kiss a forgotten earth.… Read More The Separation

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Blog, My Poems

Apartment-Living

  You turn in your sleep, and it is at times like these when I wish you could wake and listen: I am ill. I know there are times when you lie awake, hearing the sounds of another’s bed, hearing the sounds of children running in the streets after dark. These are rudimentary: the skin… Read More Apartment-Living

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Blog, My Poems

Ekphrasis

  1.   Create for me a river made of stone so that I may look nothing like you.   2.   One thousand moons. Rutabagas at slumber. Soft birds. Each of these have something in common: They look nothing like you.   3.   A girl runs through an orchard like a fish, all… Read More Ekphrasis

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Blog, My Poems

Hypochondriac

  You and your wings have left me paralyzed—the ‘skeltered wings      hanging like crows’ nests, indefinitely, fusing together like salt and ice. And she said: Please, do not call me darling anymore. The sky still carried some of the incense left over from a lunar rain, craters full of something other— something that… Read More Hypochondriac

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Blog, My Poems

Psychology & Wine

(I apologize in advance; this poem needs a lot of work.) Psychology & Wine 1. At first, when she was nervous, the girl peeled the skin from the back of her heels—nibbled her lips, crimson-blue— until they were nothing but pulled onions, the pale moons surrounded by red clouds. Lunar landscapes. Created in silence. 2.… Read More Psychology & Wine

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Blog, My Poems

Early Signs Of—

It was on a night like this when I stopped trying to find you. Your body disappeared, and I was left in a sea of white linen and feather-down— the area around the bed and the main hallway like a thousand corridors. Antelope filled these halls, their eyes turning into many dark stratospheres, and in… Read More Early Signs Of—

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Blog, My Poems, Reading

This is the time, and this is the record of the time.

“This is your captain: We are going down. We are all going down…together.” from Laurie Anderson’s “From the Air” LAST WINTER In the last few waking hours, you watch the world through unblinking eyes. People become impenetrable shadows, dark birds, until everything turns black on the outside. There are no tears. Instead, you remember a… Read More This is the time, and this is the record of the time.

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