Movement Ending with Arms

Nettles could replace the cabbage, the salt and saffron milk-caps halved and cut with stock, water, proportions intuited and spun wetly over flame. My infant grandmother satcheled to the left hip, warmed into consuming sleep while soup thickens kitchen air. Cities are fled: Moscow and Vyazma, my grandmother in the same satchel spirited to Bryansk,… More

A Style of Living

What about the dew- sodden morning, eyes open to the already turning earth? Or batter blinking in the pan? Because today we have nowhere to be. These movements are true. They’re made by hands toward a deer in the whistle grass. It is somewhere within arms reach and there’s no way to know in which… More

Townie Elegy

If I told you bagging groceries to pay for community college tuition and a gym membership made me feel some kind of glamorous it would be mostly honest and mostly, as I was then, ignorant of any real responsibility outside of anthropology text books and the push/pull full-body lift split I’d adopted from a thick… More