- Poetry -


Dusty sills of half-peeled fruit. Phonebooks stir in subway draughts. Paintings fade, the wall’s soft rippling. A blanker page of acres turns. What home’s rapport of flesh and glass could... Continue reading

- Essay -

Keep Your Dead Close

A story about my dead husband begins “I remember” or “remember how”: “Remember how Robb stapled yellow-highlighted Xeroxes of restaurant listings for every driving trip, and we’d eat six different... Continue reading

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