Angle

poetry
  I used to have this job that was just an angle.   What was required of me was to not be toward it, not tilt my body in a…

Unsink

poetry
  Having deep-cleaned the home of the reigning brand ambassador for a haute line of children’s books, I’d had enough of all those stories. Kids spinning back through history to…

That morning, a terrified phone call

poetry
  from Nora right before I left for work at Apollo, our college town’s carpet cleaning service. Twelve-hour days in the Midwest drought summer of 1988, sucking up dirt from…

Evolution

poetry
  —for Joey   Who knew we’d scramble out the rip of the ocean of home?   Your flailing limbs proving first is the worst. Who knew we’d subsist  …

In the So-Called Open Sea

poetry
  In my body it had grown, and then it slopped into a trough as the midwife heaved   like bringing in a dory. I barely felt it pass, workhorse…

The Lesser Light of Dying Stars

Fiction
  It is believed that Mr. Leon Levitt of Peridot, Arizona, began to emit sometime around his forty-third birthday—“emit” being the retroactive clinical term ascribed by those of the science…

Constellation

poetry
  We are anchored in the stars —Larry Dossey, MD   Before I could grab nitrile gloves & drop the body in the garbage can a black triangle dive-bombed  …

After Apple-Picking

poetry
  —after Frost   If it were five years ago I was dying, who would it have been who cared? That one boy I could count on to board the…

inheritance

poetry
  idol adorned with eyelashes, fingernails, other half-alive things. teeth & psalm, bitten and bless, so much bone. a song, a jewel, to divine like omen — how to begin…

On a Scale of Nothing to All

poetry
  Part of childhood remains buried under sandcastles. You used to poach grasshoppers with an old hairnet until it caught strands of cobwebs and would not let go. Memories are…

Sloughs

poetry
  One at the end of the fence line was all rot, And more rot, the ghostly maps of leaves. Another, clogged like a drain, came up in gobs, In…

Pacific

poetry
  —after Howard Moss's "Tropical Fish"   Prism smears of runoff through elastic rainbow sand, And nurdle beaches dish into a bin of brilliant bay, Translucent puffs, and bobbing box…