January 2012
3 posts
October 2011
2 posts
July 2011
1 post
June 2011
3 posts
May 2011
2 posts
The Teapot
wwnorton:
That morning I heard water being poured into a teapot. The sound was an ordinary, daily, cluffy sound. But all at once, I knew you loved me. An unheard-of thing, love audible in water falling.
—Robert Bly, from Talking Into the Ear of a Donkey
April 2011
3 posts
1 tag
March 2011
4 posts
1 tag
Valentine
“The heart, we were to learn, is a lonely muscle.”
from “We Come in Peace” by Zsuzsi Gartner
1 tag
December 2010
2 posts
Mid-August at Sourdough Mountain Lookout
Down valley a smoke haze Three days heat, after five days rain Pitch glows on the fir-cones Across rocks and meadows Swarms of new flies. I cannot remember things I once read A few friends, but they are in cities. Drinking cold snow-water from a tin cup Looking down for miles Through high still air.
-Gary Snyder
November 2010
3 posts
October 2010
9 posts
Reverse Evolution
My lover is experiencing reverse evolution. I tell no one. I don’t know how it happened, only that one day he was my lover and the next he was some kind of ape. It’s been a month and now he’s a sea turtle.
I keep him on the counter in a glass baking pan filled with salt water.
- first lines of “The Rememberer” from Aimee Bender’s short story collection: The...
Soapy Heels
So glide away on soapy heels And promise not to promise anymore And if you come around again Then I will take the chain from off the door
-from “The Chain” by Ingrid Michaelson
misplaced opulence
With Yuri’s help, Olga repositioned Mircha in the bath. An oddity of the building, this porcelain tub. It had faux gold spigots and claw feet. It was as if the building was so ashamed of its outward appearance, that the building planners, in an attempt to suggest a grandeur of long-gone days, bestowed this strange relic of misplaced opulence. Especially incongruent now, as they had been...
like a cloud which had outwept its rain
X And one with trembling hands clasps his cold head, And fans him with her moonlight wings, and cries, “Our love, our hope, our sorrow, is not dead! See, on the silken fringe of his faint eyes, Like dew upon a sleeping flower, there lies A tear some Dream has loosened from his brain.” Lost Angel of a ruin Paradise! She knew not ‘twas her own, - as with no stain. She faded, like a...