And after my father straps a bladeto its claw, and mumbles what I assumeis the end of a prayer, I wonderwhat part of this is real, what sliver of truthpits him against a figure so eagerto thrust his rooster forward, to let gravityguide it to the ground, and to watch—as my father steps back, becomes spectatorand coach—the chaos that ensues,the… Read more →
Three years ago, before the separation,hate-spattered yellow, Sherwin Williams, the boundary of our bodies growing jagged,then dashed, to suggest disputed territory. I imagine you sleeping with the same intensityof a squinting cat. You are not asleep, yet things go more literally, smoothly,as when the fret at the foot of the floor grieves openly, the way morphine spiggles out the door… Read more →
