Instead Of A Letter: SINS OF MY OLD AGE “ the most obvious thing about moving into my 70s was [that] I had ceased to be a sexual being.” – Diana Athill In […][…]
Dreamway Every highway has a thousand ghosts, and every ghost, a thousand exits. We line up for the Dreamway, our nation’s first, limited-access divided highway. With a ciggy in one hand, the other spinning Fortune’s […][…]
NIGHT WINDOWS The neighbors are making love again, their sighed, resonant cries drawn out unexpectedly, honestly, into a summer night that was longing for them, waiting to be filled. My cats stir and shift on […][…]
PAIN TO FOLLOW It must have been summer. It must have been hot. I had not yet begun to go to school. I was afflicted with that lethargy that is the special disease of childhood: […][…]
SNOW WHITE I woke and again my eyes were gold, lids keeping light to a slice, the world shrinking and veering. Fearful of stumbling, at first I imagined my skin had slipped from the platform […][…]
IN YOUR SIDE-RAILED BED, FACES brushed late nights on paper, mouth-knots, dark inkwash eyes staring into the abyss. World taped to the wall of your next-to-last room. After they moved you, no more making. Your […][…]
