≡ Menu

Winter 2014

“The first to arrive could not understand what drew these people to Zobeide, this ugly city, this trap.”  ~ Italo Calvino   In the lingering Erotic City of Ghosts no one does laundry. They do not do laundry because ghosts do not sweat. Night turns into day—and day to night. The citizens can appear at […]

Cemetery Boy

The porch light is on, but what it doesn’t reach looks like the inside of a coffee pot. No lightning bugs or stars for hope of relief. I read a poem to him under the light and he laughs at my serious face, my stumbling voice. “I liked that line about porn,” he says between […]

Kes Woodi

The red grasses. That’s what I remember. Threading my little brown hands through them on the hills in Oklahoma, my mother calling in Cherokee from the warm little cabin in the distance. The smell of smoking meats. It was so beautiful. But the memory is even more beautiful. Even then, I knew I was born […]

The Church of Poetry

There is something wrong in the World of Poetry (of course, something’s always wrong, which is part of the fun).We quibble over doctrinal disputes like the institution we love to hate: the Church. How many recovering Catholics, or any denomination, have found refuge now in the Church of Poetry, this “better scripture”? Yet if we […]