This morning, something in my doubt dissolves.The footprint or the transparency of floors.The wells open up. Sometimes, the wells close again.The added materials haven’t allowed the decision anything.Footsteps must swell, take up bone. The wells must rise.—from Marissa Davis’ translation of Stéphanie Ferrat’s “Skyside” Volume 65, Issue 3 (Fall 2024) Tell us . . .
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There is an old joke I heard one winter,one popular among the farmersfrom Trøndelag to Nord-Norge: two deer run along the railroad.One says to the other, we have to get offthese tracks and into the forest.—from Michael Lee’s “Norway’s Iron Road,” Volume 65, Issue 2 (Summer 2024) Tell us about one of the . . .
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Russ Brings all the wrong books to my hospital room, which is tucked into a corner of the birthing center. How was he to know I’d already finished that novel? Back at our house, all my books flounder in inscrutable piles. I hadn’t arranged them to be legible to anyone else. Of . . .
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