Since I moved away to a bigger city, I seldom come back home. Only for holidays and the anniversaries of a few people’s deaths.
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Mr. Z opened the door to a preacher of the One Truth: the man in a hat looked around the room.
There were two beds in Little’s room. Put back to back they were as long as his father was tall. The walls were covered in a light floral print.
the queen wasp / opens her first pair of arms. / she convulses in the right chamber like / how nails sanctify a board.
Death was passing through the pores of waiting / like fresh messages from the sky
I recall the prickly pear shrub that never failed to pierce me as I tucked my skinny body behind it, trying to hide…
I am told I was a happy, mischievous kid who smeared peanut butter on walls. Insatiably curious, I would sit down next to strangers on buses and start up conversations. I have heard that I liked to make people laugh. I don’t remember any of this.
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GNOMIC SAVIORS: EDITORS ON EDITING What happens to lit mags in a recession? moderated by Okla Elliott responses by Jacob Knabb, Ben George, Aaron Burch, Raymond Hammond, Anne McPeak, and Jodee Stanley Okla Elliott: Everyone is talking about the current economic situation in the US. How is this affecting literary journals, and what are the […]
Issue 2 Winter 2010 TAO AIMIN is known for her anthropological works made from the washboards of rural woman. Over the years she has collected thousands of these boards, recording the stories and faces of the women whose hands wore these boards down through the recursive repetition of monotonous labor. Creating installations and experimental ink […]