I drive into the sun to get home. I turn off the radio. I grip the steering wheel tight. My eyes are useless here, but still I open them wider, trying to remember where the asphalt narrows from two lanes to one. I am grateful that I know this road, but I am afraid someone … Continue reading →

In my dream you are a mime, leaning over a brick wall, in deep conversation with my father. And then you are gone, and the wall disappears, and I am in a garage watching my father punch a heavy bag. He throws punch after punch in the exact same spot–the space of vinyl where he … Continue reading →

Ours is a transitory myth complete with shorelines, silhouettes of cypress trees and the interjections of Persephone— her mother’s threat of perpetual winter, and what she knows about fennel planted in shallow pots; how quickly it will grow, how soon it will die. Continue reading →

I purposely misspell “hart,” leaving out the “e” and waiting for your red-inked corrections. Continue reading →

I do not want to be the story you tell next. Continue reading →

Night Walk, Big Bear A 1/2 mile in my hands swell and the stars are persistent. I remember them from before, from 17. Do they have the same memory– what I told that boy in the black Suburban. Do they know that I want better words for them than “twinkle” and “bright?” Continue reading →

It is too hot, but still I dig and bury roots in the yard. My skin burns. I do not feel it, but days later I peel in the more delicate places, and the creeping thyme will not grow. Continue reading →

Saki and then champagne. It was bound to happen. Continue reading →