#AmericanWriters
Who is that man in black, walking away from us into the distance? The painter, they say, took a long… finding his vision of the world. The mermaids, if that is what they…
Doctor, you say there are no haloe… around the streetlights in Paris and what I see is an aberration caused by old age, an affliction. I tell you it has taken me all my…
The laughter of women sets fire to the Halls of Injustice and the false evidence burns to a beautiful white lightness It rattles the Chambers of Congre…
In 1936, a child in Hitler’s Germany, what did I know about the war in… Andalusia was a tango on a wind-up gramophone,
If an inaudible whistle blown between our lips can send him home to us, then silence is perhaps the sound of spiders breathing
You have read War and Peace. Now here is Sister Carrie, not up to Tolstoy; still it will second the real world: predictable planes and levels,
For Linda Foster Because we used to have leaves and on damp days our muscles feel a tug, painful now, from when roots
Jenny, your mind commands kingdoms of black and white: you shoulder the crow on your left… the snowbird on your right; for you the cinders part
When the moon was full they came t… some with pitchforks, some with ra… some with sieves and ladles, and one with a silver cup. And they fished til a traveler pas…
I. Insomnia The bulb at the front door burns a… If it were a white rose it would t… through another endless night. The moon knows the routine;
The moon lies on the river like a drop of oil. The children come to the banks to… of their wounds and bruises. The fathers who gave them their wo…
For Lucy, who called them “ghost… Someone was always leaving and never coming back. The wooden houses wait like old wi… along this road; they are everywhe…
Our trees are aspens, but people mistake them for birches; they think of us as characters in a Russian novel, Kitty and Lev… living contentedly in the country.
In Sleeping Beauty’s castle the clock strikes one hundred year… and the girl in the tower returns… So do the servants in the kitchen, who don’t even rub their eyes.
What happened is, we grew lonely living among the things, so we gave the clock a face, the chair a back, the table four stout legs