We read poetry aloud. He is on the ground in front of me. I rest my elbows on my knees and lean over in my beach chair. After swimming, his black curls have slid down his neck, his hair now heavy and immobile to the wind. The ocean breeze carries a chill, so he puts […]
Flowers like having dead things plunged down with their roots. Most people don’t know, but we do. They like little bits of rotting parts, like weasel toes and bird feet and the inner soft pieces of insects that fill their bulbs with the necessary flavors. Then the stalk flits up, sometimes over a matter of […]