VQR Online

One of the first times I saw
My cousin’s son he was a kid wearing
A baggy Canadian hockey jersey

A woman
downwind from Nagasaki now dying
is forced to decide

What’s a song without measure,
Or a verse without meter,
Company without pleasure,

The boy has seen the sides of barns his father has painted, colorful pictures and perfectly shaped words twenty feet tall. And he’s seen the Shell gasoline stations around Decatur his father had been in charge of keeping painted and clean...

The last time you were beside me
it was April.
I knew it was over

Picasso the matelot, his Colt cocked,
Amiably inert in the photo
From Houston’s museum studio,

According to our research as the editors of The Voice of an American Playwright (2012), this is the first interview to explore more than Horton Foote’s writing and general biography. Conducted by Professor David L. Middleton at Trinity...

Tonight I walk out into winter’s fingers
stepping from one stone

He never even noticed anymore
the “finish” of the wine, the tang of the salt,
the sweetness of the sugared petit four,