Jenny Irish and I sat down to discuss her stunning debut, Common Ancestor, with Black Lawrence Press. Her... more
He blew smoke from a loaned cigarette back into my hair, bar rag still in his back pocket from the shift that ended two hours ago. He didn’t understand why I didn’t want him to come over. “Surrender to the stuff, baby.”
Even if it is addressed to you, this is a letter for me. If it were truly a letter for you,... more
(There they are, stealing the show from the rest of the body: Bette Davis's eyes, wide in perpetual surprise, in... more
The "UTOPIA STUDY" series is a form of experimental architectural photography that focuses on modern architecture in a number of American... more
Parker is the coolest kid in fourth grade. Everyone thinks so. If Parker says something is cool, it’s cool. Period. I don’t know any better, yet. Parker says this band that sings a song about Buddy Holly is cool. I ask around but none of the other fourth graders know what I’m talking about.
I could have no path, no idea of what I should be or how I should live. I could skate through neighborhoods, where I wouldn’t find a Mormon church or anyone who knew I had strayed from the path I was raised to follow
Depression, like any beast, digests
only what is edible.
To make your joy indigestible,
follow closely these steps:
Learn... more
My father inhales smoke from a lone Marlboro,
shadowed against a sun colored like dead autumn leaves.
He gently... more
Plastic and puke co-exist. Children frolic in the belly, the guts and intestines, the ballpit.
The funeral is over, Eliza is back at work, and she has eaten dinner at home three times now, once alone, even.
The year is 2019 and all our conversations are now about water. Even the conversations not about... more
A Queer Translates Rilke
I long to know his self-described “epic head”
with my eyes closed. But... more
The source was unreliable. It's possible that I was the source.
Patience is one virtue that me and Wayne both got in spades.
The king’s first wife went crazy and no longer obeyed him, so he sent her away.
I walked through the senior hallway, heart beating fast. The boys’ stares burned into my skin as they whispered things to each other.
In my head, dating women was a body competition.
“If you have to say you’re fine, you’re probably not,” the crow replied.
Because let’s face it, boiled tea does not meet my privileged standards for heat.
My mother tells me how my father died. I’d learned only a week before that he had gangrene in his toes because of a sore he’d let fester.
I remember being young and small and barefoot on the concrete floor: look closely and see how the cicada shells vibrate as the Texas Hill Country winds sift in.
Lenore was at the cusp. I’m cusping, Percy, she rasped. Percy was unsure what to do about it. Press forward? Hang back?
In jazz, woodshedding refers to the shed you sequester yourself in, as a young musician learning the craft, a private space to develop your own style, away from prying eyes or critical ears.
