Explore

Ms. Range Wants to See Me in It

Men can’t sense like that. Or won’t. Even a father don’t dare get that close.

Murder-Suicide

Sherman Alexie

Musée des Beaux Arts

About suffering they were never wrong, The Old Masters.

My Black Spell and Other Poems

These days I watch the world go by and do not breathe life into it.

My Civil War

Grant had a lot of buttons on that coat—when he wore it.

My Father at Twenty-Three, on the Highway Side of an Overpass Fence

In all the faded retellings of that night, there’s a lot he left out.

My Father Quoting Shakespeare Late at Night

Then came “the sea of trouble” as he crumpled his bank statement.

My Father Was a Writer

Cruelty is cruelty and you don’t ask why, you just hit first and hit hard.

My Fourth Fall

What were the unsafe things to say even in a thirty-year marriage?

My Grandmother

Someday you’ll understand, darling. Everyone will just—vanish!

Mysteries of Love and Grief

Mystery, Play and Other Poems

On a scale of 1 to 10, the pain dissolves like a Eucharist wafer.

Naming

I sensed that a name defined who I was and would be in the future.

Nasya Krevoshay

It suddenly seemed to her that the world was filled with little miracles. There were moments when love overcame her despair.

Navigating by Stars

The phone rang at an awkward hour, too late at night to be good news.

Neutral Tones

A grin of bitterness swept thereby like an ominous bird a-wing.

New Year’s Weekend on the Hand Surgery Ward, Old Pilgrims’ Hospital, Naples, Italy

Ten years ago, when I was in college, my father divorced my mother and said he wanted me to become responsible for her. That is why I fled to Italy.

Night Garden

I want these things to have another life, like the old garden behind our house.

Night Glow

Dad was blind until six months ago, when he bumped his head in the fire.

Nighthawk: Recollections of a Lost Time

Insomnia! There is a sickly romance to the affliction—initially.

Nightstands

She had not anticipated that the nightstands would be an issue.

No One Knows the Way to Heaven

Here’s the world, sweetheart. One word as small & large as a father.

Nocturne

I’d make a tub of mud to keep live crabs. I’d refill it daily.

Nocturne Op. 2

Music that tells of how things stand in the troubled world you now have.

None of Us Were Dying Then

That summer we moved to the house you would die in years later.

North to Natoma and Other Poems

It’s been months, and the fields are good for nothing but night talks.

Northern California

Teams spend days surveying the damage and label me a mess.

Nostalgia in February

I want everything to mean. To have worth and weight. But it doesn’t.

Notes from a Breakup: A Field Guide through Heartbreak

“Why do we always fight,” he finally said, his voice quiet, resigned.

Notes from My Apprenticeship

Here is the fat guy whose Chihuahua gnawed through his stomach.