Editors

Ink-stone

you are a brush of calligraphy sweeping designs across my belly ink splattering circles and symbols like a string of black lipped oyster pearls strewn between my thighs don’t lie you never wanted to lick the stone where I ground up green dye mixed with water- where I ...

My Sister’s Hands / My Son Confesses

  I rest my forehead on nerves and muscle that worked for years. I think this is dying: swollen   knuckles like rusted hinges closing her hands to fists cold as the porcelain she once prized for paper weight   on her office desk. Then the surprise ...

10 Ways to Get Her

10. DO TALK The thing you need to know is this: when she was learning to read aloud, she was befuddled by the word “together.” She was used to sounding things out, so she chirped “to get her?” then her teacher ...

Death of the Little Self

I love the I, frail between its flitches, its hard ground and hard sky, it soars between them like the soul that rushes, back and forth Sharon Olds, “Take the I Out”   Over the course of writing, I have learned: the I lives in my ...