#AmericanWriters
I bought a dollar and a half’s wor… took them home, boiled them in the… and ate them for dinner with a lit… Then I walked through the dried f… on the edge of town. In middle Ju…
We stripped in the first warm spri… and ran down into the Detroit Riv… to baptize ourselves in the brine of car parts, dead fish, stolen bi… melted snow. I remember going unde…
The long lines of diesels groan toward evening carrying off the breath of the living. The face of your house
A man roams the streets with a bas… of freestone peaches hollering, “P… peaches, yellow freestone peaches… My grandfather in his prime could… the Tigers of Wrath or the factor…
Green fingers holding the hillside, mustard whipping in the sea winds, one blood-bright poppy breathing in
The winter sun, golden and tired, settles on the irregular army of bottles. Outside the trucks jostle toward the open road, outside it’s Saturday afternoon,
We don’t see the ocean, not ever,… when the worst heat seems to rise… of this valley, you could be walki… when suddenly the wind cools and f… you get a whiff of salt, and in th…
In the early morning before the sh… opens, men standing out in the yar… on pine planks over the umber mud. The oil drum, squat, brooding, bri… with metal scraps, three-armed cro…
First light. This misted field is the world, that man slipping the greased bolt back and forth, that man tunneled with blood
I bend to the ground to catch something whispered, urgent, drifting across the ditches.
If the shoe fell from the other fo… who would hear? If the door opened onto a pure darkness and it was no dream? If your life ended the way a book ends
A child wakens in a cold apartment… The windows are frosted. Outside… words rising from the streets, wor… understand, and then the semis gea… for the traffic light on Houston.…
In borrowed boots which don’t fit and an old olive greatcoat, I hunt the corn-fed rabbit, game fowl, squirrel, starved bobca… anything small. I bring down
We live here because the houses are clean, the lawns run right to the street and the streets run away. No one walks here.
Everyone loves a story. Let’s beg… We can fill it with careful rooms… with things—tables, chairs,… closed to hide tiny beds where chi… or big drawers that yawn open to r…