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Illnessexpand_moreWho was responsible for my father not living up to expectations?
The cat was looking at me with an intelligent expression. It knew.
“Who is it?” Irina asked at the door. “Open up,” a voice commanded.
A memory in the drip, drip, drip of the kitchen sink that won’t stop.
She regarded the world calmly without the filter of her suffering.
Beyond her ampleness, he stands a small man vanquished.
Let’s walk down to the river, bless the paper boats and turn it all into wine.
David Lee
Flesh is temporary, memory a tilting barn dismantled nail by nail.
She commands, under her breath, You must be the son.
I tell my sister what I didn’t tell my father, I love you. Please, don’t die.
I awakened on my belly—my back a raw field from nape to heels.
I found Lowell’s gun a long time ago. He’s not a genius at hiding things.
The laughter rises like the roar of a train as the men leap to their feet.
The strange man expected to be picked up by aliens during the eclipse.
Definitely believe what you hear about the problems with painkillers.
There lay before us a bag that gave forth, at a touch, the jingle of gold.
A dead body leaned sideways against a wall. Its eyes were open.
One of us broke away, cooled, and died, having never fully lived.
Slice a finger while opening a beer can, fizz the gin high in tumblers.
A car curved left, leapt the curb, and came at us like the line of a bullet.
She only eats condiments, pickles, slices of sharp cheddar.
Dan Gerber reads poems of boyhood, and from the end of his mother’s life.
Your words will strike her heart like Saint Teresa’s flaming arrow.
The night shower is a personal pan-blizzard, a folklore-free zone.
My “lonelymaking.” Also known as my horrible secret, continent-wide.
You can stand on the edge and tremble with fear or risk your life.
insomniacs gesturing in a cave of neon light the narrative of their lives
Our brains interpolate from surrounding images, fooling us.
A simple line of raging wet nearby, how as a kid I pictured the Nile.
