An old man with his head split open, like an overly-ripe papaya in the village market. The cut is neat, straight, precise; as if planned by a surgeon or architect armed with x-acto knife. Now the rusty metal of the village signpost is smeared with this man’s blood; he just wanted to buy some tomatoes. Read the full article…

A cold spring led itself into a dry and windy summer. We carried magnifying glasses, searching for something supple under the desiccated grasses, each of us flirting in our own way with an oppressive sun. Months of days filtered like dust across the light, quietly accreting against the glass. The air was stale. Someone said Read the full article…

               –    for R, in memory You think you have the sun captured in your hand but it’s not the sun it’s not even your hand it’s a small animal bedded in wood scraps it’s a vase of cut flowers, waiting it’s the long shade of an arborway Read the full article…

The uterus. Glistening under the fluorescent bulbs of the operating room where the surgeon with her rubber hands, lifted it delicately triumphantly from the body cavity. The uterus looked exactly like a small Thanksgiving turkey, slippery skin, goosebumps, tiny turkey legs protruding politely—her fibroids. The next morning, I do not tell the plump, cheerful woman Read the full article…

“…and there is no kind of occupation in which men may not learn by their abortive attempts. “ —Columella I have not met a person Who does not wish to be young again Some because they hate mirrors, revealing etchings of time Some because they hate mirrors, revealing landscapes of regret If we could be Read the full article…

    I.        Summer “All I eat is sunflower seeds.” I think of cool pennies in my small palm How eagerly I traded dollars that summer To cut my tongue on salt and seed Change is what is left not spent She sits upright Rhinestones on her shirt splitting and spitting rainbows Read the full article…