As soon as the lamp was lit at six every evening and the chickens fluttered down from the cacao and jackfruit trees, Father would leave/ He wore shabby military fatigues, boots as large as my legs, and an antique amulet on which was inscribed an Angelus that only Father could read and . . .
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First, in complete silence, the yellow wall in my room cracks, spreading its spiderweb threads as quickly and as slowly as is possible only in a dream. Chills are crawling down my spine; hot flashes throb into my head. This is panic, fear, terror—a preverbal, pre-Russian sensation that as yet has no . . .
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I slept the sleep of the deadonce. Once, could not be wokenin time to do what it wasI had to do.Did not hear the ring of. Did not hearthe rap of. Was called. Was shaken. Rosegroggy, stumblingdown the hall, my mother saying, Lookat who has finally graced us with her presence. … —from . . .
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Severalancient skulls unearthed in Ethiopiawith butchery marks around the eye sockets and occipital bones It’s called “pot polishing”— A sign that bones have been boiled for reasons of cookery——from “Cannibalism,” Volume 62, Issue 3 (Fall 2021) Tell us about one of the first pieces you wrote.When I was about eight years old, . . .
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Outside my mother’s bedroom windowin the memory care unit, sparrowsand Carolina chickadees play hide-and-seekin holly bushes lit with winter’s red berries.—from “Stripes,” Volume 62, Issue 3 (Fall 2021) Tell us about one of the first pieces you wrote.The first poem I wrote was about standing by the pond at dawn watching a . . .
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Aristotle imagined that red occured when “luminous transparency is covered by a thin burning smoke.” In California, in the Amazon, wherever forest fires spread, visions of a red future multiply. “With all the dust and smoke in the air, the world will begin to look different,” writes one reporter.—from “Fugitive Reds,” Volume . . .
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Meanness is not the only way to access it. I grew adjacent to Christ: knew him purely by name and sight (limbs on the patibulum) The crossbar—the patibulum—is an incorrect representation.—from “A Humility Essay,” Volume 62, Issue 3 (Fall 2021) Tell us about one of the first pieces you wrote.My second-grade teacher . . .
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The manatee’s strangest feature is she’s alwaysworking, seven straight ruminant hours pawing shallow floors for mangrove leaves and pickerel weed.Even sleeping half the day, each quarter hour—from “Anxiety Medication,” Volume 62, Issue 3 (Fall 2021) Tell us about one of the first pieces you wrote.In elementary school I wrote a story about . . .
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Near a creek where his mother said don’t dare go, a young boy spots a garter snake, jaws surrounding a half-swallowed worm, compelling the boy to bend at the knees, starting the descent toward the lumbering snake. It’s then that he buckles from weakness in his legs, ignored for days as a . . .
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This is a story of a mole. It was about the size of a pea, light aubergine in color. He still remembers how it felt under his fingers: how it stood, pert and taut, when pressed down; yet how pliantly it leaned over when caressed sideways. A little oddity he would always . . .
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