[…] me like green semaphores.” So do they in her poems. In “Writing Copy” the grotesque in the news floods into a real day and “the sheepish guy in the parking/ terrace who waits in […]
July twenty-third in the canyon is almost like hell-fire—sulfurous hot waves off the powdery earth while the children play in the trees,
One late afternoon just before sunset, the Prophet with white hair like the mane of a lion was walking by the sea with his friend, Fernando. They walked and talked about many things as […]
now that I’m old and know it I begin to glimpse the endless line
[…] forgotten how long Since I looked up in wonder at you Stroking that long shiny blade against The leather strop that hung like doom From the wooden frame of our medicine cabinet. Stroking back […]
[…] wife had clapped a shirt over her chest, was asking him didn’t he care if the whole world saw her bare. No, he did not. But he didn’t say. He went out. He went […]
[…] theologian [and] his commitment to the worth of scientific knowledge” mark his work as bringing to the world a serious “inquiring into the nature and meaning of Mormonism” (xxiii-xxv). Paul focuses on Roberts’s views […]
[…] started having girlfriends over. Ladyfriends, he called them. When I stayed home sick from school, I saw the ladyfriends leave for work. “How cute. Is this yours?” they said, pointing at me on the […]
[…] a wealth of historical data culled from years of research. Although Butler had written his autobiography at the end of his life primarily as a selective and highly focussed testament to his family about […]
[…] if he would ever get to painting this window or if it even mattered anymore in a world this different. He turned back to her because he knew she was watching him. She knew […]