When we were five or six, well before that shot, we walked together in those woods. It was fall and we had just touched, for the first time that I can remember, in his room, under blankets. They were either 101 Dalmatians or Power Rangers-themed

THE TENSION

Sliced peach cool

under fresh yoghurt,

steaming creamy coffee,

the slow, dark wake of an October morning.

Difficult to pull myself

away from comfort and

the waves of

After high school, I moved from Minnesota to Texas. Average annual number of Tornados in Minnesota: 41.9. Average annual number of tornados in Texas: 146.7. 

I want Paula to feel the pain I’ve felt, the pain of being left behind, and not by someone who has died, which would be less painful, in my opinion. Because when someone leaves you in life, they’re still out there; they just have a new life you’re not a part of.

fire inherent spectrum

the martyr no longer I walk beyond the cradle the peach tree the alphabet

a horizon infused revolution imagine the light the door in the mountain

stitches of time

1. We are young and we snake through synagogue back hallways. Play truth or dare. Seven minutes in heaven. Stay away from the sanctuary.

Tomorrow he will crash from the sugar buzz. I will not look at him with eyes that suggest I told you so, which is part of love. 

The New Rules for a Brooklyn Neighborhood 

I thought home was like

the word water. You would never

let go of it. When I walk on the street

in my part of Brooklyn, I step over

beer

If we add three points to Athleticism, we have three left to spend on our son. We already have 8 points toward Intelligence. Virtue is a 7, Athleticism would be an 8 if we add those last three. 

along with the memory

The height of fall.  The streets are buried in leaves.  Morning is rising.  Red-tinged shadows extend over the green, crunchy carpets.  The air took on its own

MEASUREMENTS

How great must a shock be to determine X number of years? We go to therapists to answer such questions. To be told: shock of nth degree yields so many years. Powers on which to

My alcoholic uncle, Bill, was pacing back and forth across the five by five foot living room, asking where his beer was. His beer was wearing a new koozie that had a hood and zipped up like a real sweatshirt.

As teenagers, my friends and I spent Friday nights driving backroads, throwing soda cans at street signs. The wind would be cold, the music would be loud, and sometimes, a can would bounce back and

Reverse Invocation 
 

To the god of thresholds: for is it not
tradition to call upon a deity

with a voice crackling like the lull
of aged leaves, of a petal shifted

by wind. To the

dogged night

the moon is black

or green i go

a little nuts

flaying flowers

from the brocade

i cord the stems

& swallow the steak

tenderloin

I started reading My Struggle in the spring of 2014. I didn’t know what I was getting into, but I was excited about the prospect of being totally immersed in someone else’s world, and I was curious as

Hollowing in Three Parts

1

Although it’s the last day of September and the talons of winter have taken hold and although between the two of you you’ve lost sixty-five pounds in the

Larry didn’t try to talk to me, but whenever the silence got too thick, he would squeeze my knee or knead my shoulder. I was pretty fucked up on cold medicine, and it felt like he was grabbing a hold of my bones.

It starts like this: Hirsch leans over the sandwich board at the P&S Lunch just after the rush and feels faint.  A little touch of the queezywheezies, says Pinskey. Lie down for a little, says

America

The radio is on a pledge drive

and living in America

is starting to feel like staying 

in the bad hotel.

Nothing to hear but selling

or silence. I’m thinking of the

June 1, 1944 –  Squadron party. Real whiskey, but didn’t get too hi – just happy. Met a W.A.F. (Women Air Force) & we talked English history.

Ivan told me that the minute you step off the plane in America they hand you money. I keep waiting for someone to hand me money. No one has handed me money.

Ja

I keep writing about orgasms as crying & then I think about that.
I spent too much money on baby pink earrings & ginger
because the men in my life believe me & still starch their

Eva Hagberg Fisher's forthcoming book (out next week) How To Be Loved figuratively fell in my lap. I was at coffee with a friend, saying I needed a new book to read, but I needed that book to be about recovery because I just needed to be heard and understood, and lo and behold, my inbox pinged.

I’m at Guitar Center to buy a Fender. I run through the metal heads doing their best Guitar Hero impressions to the only white Telecaster hanging on the wall.

A Godly woman has to make a living, after all.