My Daughter’s Teeth, My Father’s Beard

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My daughter wants to lose her teeth. All her friends have: Gavin, Gabi, Brooke and Morgan, Samantha, Matt, Rebecca and Riley. She’s started banging into doorjambs mouth first. I tell her to wait. Her new teeth will grow in when … Read More

Easter, 2012

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My daughter picks the painted eggs from under the juniper bushes that line the path as maples weep last night’s rain and the sun apologizes for being absent. My daughter’s dress looks like the flag of Finland. Her favorites eggs … Read More

Hush—16

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Again the drink, the musk and identity of honeysuckle, orange blossom, pear. Again pluck and flood. A body takes juice and distillation from inaction, shoulder to shoulder without witness over wine, over margin and knowing, over the sugared cuisine, and … Read More

The Broken Story

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So we decided to fill in the baby book the same weekend I got the snip— something to do while I lay in bed recovering from the pull in my guts, the scowling nostrils of the incisions, the stiffening protest … Read More

Cleaning House

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Sister, it’s just about done and we’re in the clear, safe in the day’s margin. Make me one of those bourbon drinks with a quarter key lime and let’s perch here awhile. There’s nothing left to be cleaned and everyone … Read More

Stations of the Cross

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Someone had taken an axe to my life which meant that although everything was in pieces we needed a Christmas tree if only for the children to gather round as they listened to a wound-up version of Stille Nacht, Heilige … Read More

Christ Stopped at Hollesley

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My mother asked me to take a turkey to my sister who lives on the other side of the heath. Mother said, Your sister lives on the other side of the heath. Thank you mother I have known that for … Read More

The Street of Measuring Scales

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In the town below the mountain, a street through which a bridge rushes. On the corner facing the world, a pub, “To the Holed Fluffy Coat.” Opposite, a small house filled with drawers from which an old woman digs out … Read More

I’m Homesick for being Homesick

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It’s time to dress up in the clothes of the dead is what mother said when she’d spent the afternoon making chicken stock. I wore my father’s yellow socks and my brother’s moleskin trousers and I lowered two feet into … Read More

A History of Ghosts

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“It thunders. It thunders.” An ocean is a form of cruelty. Coincidental sheets against a coincidental mattress. In the beginning, people shouted. The gods fell upon the earth like sandpaper. Idle salespeople struggled with thoughts about owls. I miss you, … Read More

A History of Waves

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There is no longer a distinction between the body and the sand. He travelled for thirty leagues with a stranger. Our share of night, our share of morning. Everything wears. He takes off his dress. I put on my shirt. … Read More

A History of Love

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While some wind turbines kill birds, newer models are being built to reduce bird mortality. “It begins with socks in a drawer.” He went looking for the ocean and found a thesaurus. An idea about grass goes extinct. The minister … Read More

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