Deborah Flanagan

All night a knife sleeps in the sand, next to a monk eating an onion in the desert. The knife slices through the onion’s delusions. The monk extracts knives of various shapes and sizes from his chest, throat, shoulder; wipes off each one, dabs at the blood. He is so hard on himself. The knife […]

In 762, poet Li Po kisses the reflection of the moon beside his boat, falls overboard and drowns.   I like men and moons. His head, an old chandelier, going dark.   In 1911, Distiller Jack Daniel kicks his safe: can’t remember the combination. Dies from blood poisoning from his infected toe.   In 1387, […]

  There was no shadow over my G.D.R. childhood. Later I acted in such a way that I would not have to live in constant conflict with the state.” –Angela Merkel   As a child she stands on the diving board for the full hour of her swimming lesson: at the bell, she finally jumps. […]