Author Archives: Katie Sticca

  in honor of Stewart   “Art, useless as tits on a boar.” —Diane Seuss   A poet once said that a poem is a synapse, the space between neurons; those two inches spanning the gap between God’s finger and … Read More

  begins with the sight of someone else’s eyes, voice pulled taut   by a ribbon of smoke, apples of cheeks reddened like seawater   in the evening light. A volcanic eruption, one body   surging toward another, determined to … Read More

  “Our meat was cold.” “He simply smelt it and walked away.” “Like stepping into a house of horrors.” “The smoke flavor haunted me 4 days after my visit.” “Mother ordered the chicken who is 90 years old, and said … Read More

  This is not a pipe, said surrealist painter Magritte about his painting. It looks like a pipe, convinces you, makes you believe that it is a pipe, but you can’t push your hand through the canvas, grab it, take … Read More

  Her name is Anabel. A Turkification of the foreign name “Annabel.” Not ten minutes ago, Anabel pulled me out of the way as the bumper of a bus grazed my back, hurting and shaking my fragile bones, giving me … Read More

  She came to me three times last night. Padded across the carpet +++and hardwood and in a voice so clear she sounded like fresh river water said, +++Mama, I’m lonely Then, Mama, what animal would you be if you … Read More