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Summer 2017

April in Middle Age

I find myself not asking am I still sexy like all the magazines seem to demand but am I happy am I falling apart part of us decaying part of us radiant it seems that there’s a balance on the whole after all as our eyeballs thicken it corrects so many stigmatisms and while I […]


The bathroom must have been cold in winter—our house was heated by a woodstove, downstairs—but I remember it only in summer, the window open, a blue-green damp coming down off the Allegheny foothills. My mother’s silver rings in a little box, her cotton balls and talcum powder, the two knobs for water, hot and cold, […]

Three Poems

blackbirds baked in a pie my mother always sang to me and everyone so heartbreaking what rain does to snow (no chance of going on its own terms) the year she died, we were buried prematurely but those last days unrelenting rain snow wasted away and she – in thirteen ways, she receded into the […]

How Gypsy Invented the Tease

Light flies across the ceiling to where hangs a picture of her mother: Praying is like sitting in a rocking chair. It doesn’t get you anywhere but it passes the time. Gypsy Rose lights candles in her dressing room just to blow them out, to watch the sultry weave of smoke in the dark. Headlights […]