The Children’s Theatre

poetry
  He was walking in the woods when he heard that laughter, those exclamations, that joy. And what to do but stop, heart thumping, and listen to the children’s voices…

Safety Concerns

poetry
  Are you an immigrant, asks my son’s teacher when I drop him off. Perhaps I seem a little harsh, I walk too quickly, my teeth aren’t right.   He…

Ode to Polish Forests

poetry
  As soon as we saw you in the movie we knew you were where the Jews were buried which we find out they were and when you illustrate the…

The Trees Having Tea above Me

poetry
  —they have known each other forever grew up together, and so one tree would comment and the others would heartily agree and a few would laugh and there was…

My Eden Story

poetry
  My great-grandparents were hounded out of their native lands; no streets were named after them in those lost-named Slavic towns where they left everything, nor in Argentina where the…

We Can’t Breathe

poetry
  I used to believe it took so much to kill   without a bullet. I didn’t know the hollowness of bodies,   how hands can lunge and it can…

No Ode

poetry
  to greed. Or even need. Wish neither on no one. I’m in the dentist’s chair, numb to aching, wanting it over, thinking about   want. I want, I’ll say…

Gypsy Girl

poetry
  I played with her at school because no one else would and because she had only two dresses, one striped, one plaid. And because my mother said, You be…

Black Leather Backpack

poetry
  I buy one I return one I buy another   I return it this goes on all fall—   my hunger unsated my thirst unslaked I try the zippers…

A Funeral Hymn in Falsetto

poetry
    On the night my grandfather rejected tea and offered his last breath instead, the earth shifted an inch. And I listened out for a rustle of leaves or…

Vibiana in the Half-court Set

Fiction
  Callie and I were thirteen the summer of ‘87, the summer the Los Angeles Lakers won the World Championship. During the school months, we were required to wear the…

The Floatplane

Fiction
  There were all sorts of holes in Moriko’s story, but for $4,000, it wasn’t my place to point them out. She claimed to be an art dealer with works…