The muffled sound of the fruit
as it carefully breaks from a branch,
amid the incessant chant
of the silence, deep in the woods.
1908
Contributed By: Alistair Noon, Osip Mandelshtam
The muffled sound of the fruit
as it carefully breaks from a branch,
amid the incessant chant
of the silence, deep in the woods.
1908
Return to table of contents for Issue 3 Fall 2010
This poem was nominated for The Best of the Net. foxtail flower, cunning loveliness, leave me to eat until i’m full, fill up on bitterness. before it is our house it is – to me – one basement, a roving plane of parties where i drink to stomachache. i don’t know now if i ever […]
I can’t remember precisely the first time I saw The Woman’s Film, a collaborative short documentary made by San Francisco Newsreel in 1971, but I do remember being struck by its boldly feminist mode of address and content. It has stuck with me for years and now I use it in class anytime I can. […]
Most nights I don’t think of it, the blood on my teeth, my white dress, stained with soot and wet grass, how the mud hugged my feet like bedroom slippers. I hid in the bush until the storytellers found me. They enjoy the music of split-open things, stretched my skin into […]