test4

posted in: poetry | 0

Small creature running through the burning grass, you will be of use. In the old language, there was nothing but simple words, (mousescratch, mousesniff) yet everything was accounted for. Your body has survived the lightning, and runs now— a word— … Read More

Advice

posted in: poetry | 0

  Small creature                   running through the burning grass,         you will be of use. In the old language,                   there was nothing but simple words,                   (mousescratch,                                                   mousesniff) yet everything was accounted for. Your body … Read More

Jerusalem As a Second Language

posted in: Fiction | 0

Jerusalem For Asher, a time of confusion, a time of desire. One month, and he had yet to kiss Galina, yet to hold her hand. Their most intimate moments were when he watched her dance The Mediterranean Wiggle, The Snake … Read More

Iphigenia in Baltimore

posted in: Fiction | 0

Sing to me, oh Muse, of Beatrice Fleck, thirty-six-year-old virginal fourth-grade teacher, strongest woman alive, and covert writer of erotic novelettes. Unsullied not by choice but by the inscrutable designs of fate, Beatrice wanted nothing more than to be plundered. … Read More

The Narrow Road to the Monastery

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Dear Lightning it was the lightning Lord that knocked the tall firs down One fir on either side Across the narrow road to the monastery / Trapping me there in the monastery That made me Lord believe in You It … Read More

The Stillness

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Rolling across the lawn It sometimes stops me dead. My rolling girls stop too, knowing Something’s gone wrong again. One of them, I can’t remember who, Crawls through the grass and whispers A secret language in my muddy ear. You’re … Read More

Feldenkrais Class, Jerusalem

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I think of David’s rod deep under Silwan— visions of Batsheva mouth to the earth: “Now turn on your right side without thinking of your right side.” My transplanted spine, a cleft rind of envy, pretends it is a third … Read More

Daffodil Waves

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I. “The colline were covered in daffodils,” my Nonna tells me. II. Green grows yellow with swollen seeds. How suddenly they open releasing their egg yolk trumpets. III. I am the school girl immersing in daffodil waves. No, those are … Read More

A Ghazal: Intimations of Ghalib

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Did I walk from his party, thirsty and dry? If I had quit drinking where was the Saqi? In one shaft, she has the two impaled. First my head, now my heart has failed. On your feet Ghalib, find a … Read More

Start My Day

posted in: poetry | 0

Slate blue clouds, bare trees Standing sentinel: in the air A mild chill. What better day, Dear God, to be alive, to be still.

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