Suburban Metamorphosis

Bill Neumire It’s not a science, this still-cooling story: Nora was a woman who became a couch. Tim, defeated, clipped the fringe from her ankles and wore it as a laurel, artlessly microfiber, though blessed with a middle-class honesty. Why does anyone lose who they are? The atmosphere, it gets heavier until it congeals into… More


Bill Neumire I am a left shoe, no laces, on the Maine coast; a kingfisher somehow owes me its life. I didn’t choose this sea’s flagrant shift from green to blue. I didn’t choose rogue waves or the clot of storms. Why then the ballistics of love, the freckle, the artistic hips? On Tuesday there… More