Shots Fired

Memoir
    “The dead are having a party without us. They’ve left our worries behind . . .” —Kathleen Aguero, from “Send Off”   Kerry was using again the last…

Freddy’s Vacation

Fiction
  I   Excursion, corrects my father, who is a hunter. He is standing over a basin in our shack, pressing freshly butchered venison into salt, and the finger he…

The Anthropologist Problem

Fiction
  In the official texts that the villagers had permitted me to read, there was never a strict age requirement. What mattered was that the candidates were elders—re-tellers of stories,…

Rani

Fiction
  My grandmother, Daddi, kept calling her dead husband to bed. On the night of the funeral, Daddi looked for him in the folds of her velvet blanket, the hollows…

Birds Again

poetry
  in memory of my student, 2000-2019   After last spring’s surprise grackle attack and the autumn squirrels’ burgling acrobatics   I almost didn’t fill the feeders this year.  …

Smokestack

poetry
  Sometimes I think the gods want something else. Enough with the libations, they might cry (if it weren’t for the prohibition on two-way speech). Don’t gore that ox on…

August

poetry
  He went to her on my birthday. Did he sneak through the blades of night Between our friends’ quarter moon tents To find her? Maybe they walked the aqueous…

July 11

poetry
  Find the balance at the oarlock says the coach not the usual way, not inside the boat. She wants us to push our consciousness three feet out, rest it…