Explore
Journeysexpand_moreIn search of the life we all agree is so desirable—art, romance, freedom!
Joanna Walsh
Joanna Walsh
The field wants to stretch the hours, wants to be empty for us.
Judging beauty, which is keenest, Eye or heart or mind or penis?
You can always tell the military folk by their even stance, their steady gaze.
“Rev. MacLean’s been stabbed in Oban,” his wife said, her voice thin.
Delighted to be there, celestial together, as high as you get.
Why is a duel out of the question? Men are all cocks; they should fight.
Until now the man had not really lived, but simply existed, to be sure.
Loved this little portal to my past so much that I went looking for others.
The dead and alive who we will never see again but in dream or memory.
I could become something new. Improved. Like detergent.
He probably should have arrested or at least reported me to someone.
My husband screws around. Not much and not often, but I know.
“Folks need other folks, that’s all I mean. Especially here in the Ohio.”
El Presidente was no longer in a mood to see the American press.
The dark creatures are still, yet they give life to the whole mountain.
I have three girls from my previous marriages, but she beats them all.
It’s all that I have left of “the old country,” as my mother calls it.
“With me for an uncle you don’t never need to be afraid of him, baby.”
Gurov reflected, “it wouldn’t be a bad idea to make her acquaintance.”
Even if he lost her he would never disparage her, never not love her.
He was frightened, a creature no more or less unbound by time than I am.
The letter both pleased and disturbed her. Why did he get in touch?
It was up airly and down late with him, and the loom never standin’ still.
I tell her I’m a woman now, that my boobs just popped in.
Chocolate promises a happy ending. I believed in that promise.
I am eleven years old and too young to die, but I am dying nonetheless.
I am eleven years old and too young to die, but I am dying nonetheless.
