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Katie Sticca
621 posts

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…

The Favor

poetry
  Everything has been remodeled about motherhood. I should know, I am not one. A mother, that is. I have one, like we all do, or did, at the time…

A Fountain

poetry
  On a warm spring that gorged on soil, spewed tornadoes like seeds, I painted my nails blue, the color of Alice’s dress, and cycled at night to the older…

I Wanted to Be a Boy

poetry
  Because I want to be a wolf; because the earth smells of sinew and green. Because his hair was made of corn dust and cloud and I wanted to…