Author Archives: Katie Sticca

  The clouds aren’t clouds anymore, they’re whatever they want to be, unfocused drifters, portents of change. A hundred people are here, a hundred different courses happening, each person’s version of the world a tricky thing, mine often the beam … Read More

  I dream hate. I dream fear. I barely remember my dreams but through   the scrape of a night, I see the world is at my glass. No storms or blizzards   could have prepared me for this hate, … Read More

  the water all light and motion wedge of shimmer stripes of wind ripples edging tenderly to dulse and Irish moss and rocks smooth as the backs of whales   there is weight to the morning fog, scent of fire … Read More

  of steel-toed boots and fixed-gear bicycles, O country of subwoofers and subterranean shelters,   of men on green fields in armor, of men on sand in skin, of skin on skin, and nail polish named better than our children— … Read More

  All summer, we feared to look at her, our bovine Tiresias. Marked by pinkeye, with crystal ball eyes she sniffed her way   across pastures thinned by drought. My father saw her every day, as he filled the water … Read More

  Though we’d wish for a straight approach, dying’s a tyro, squats in its delivery, ball   in both hands plopped on the lane. For a moment dumb there, it stutters, wobbles, creeping   down the gleaming alley. A rubbing … Read More

  It was like dying. Or terror falling from the skies in Guernica. Or the yearning of prisoners, how she fell out of herself, sometimes, forgetting her name. The feeling was worst when she wanted to be loved by her … Read More

  Translation by Yun Wang   Soft grass and flat sedge freshen after rain My horse trots on a sandy road free of dust When will I pack up to plow side by side with a friend?   Mulberry trees … Read More

  Translation by Yun Wang   The wind flies fast clouds low over the water The sky clears over swallows nesting at pond-side lodge Burdened with illness Lord Shen could barely dress   No sound of letter-bearing wild geese over … Read More

  Tomorrow someone will come for me. Or maybe not tomorrow. Later. Who knows when? I don’t mind waiting. It beats doing something. Doing has always been my undoing. Not everyone has my peculiar sense of humor. That too has … Read More

  The ostrich will give itself its own name, anoint itself in pearls, stare in the mirror as it dresses and undresses its body.   The ostrich enjoys a spectacle, draws attention to itself: bedazzled   sunglasses, a smirk, a … Read More

  I found out about his death over Facebook Messenger, some sad-face emoji staring back at me from the screen. Who does that? I wonder now. No call. No text. Just an image with a streaming blue tear, something a … Read More