Alice Fulton

In the North Sea, I was issued this survival suit and hired to dive. From the chopper I looked into towers neat as watchworks, fortresses with orange flares that roared in gassy, dragonish glamor, with oily steel stairs whose perforations distantly [...]

to my mother, Mary Callahan Fulton These gates are forever open: Trees weeping dishevelments of leaves, Victorian granite extravagances and sticky tombstone verse are overruled. Instead, cinderblock discount outlets merge with headstones, plain as [...]

Heat incubates: memories hatch rapidly as fish roe. Hello to the gold circle pins in blue Peter Pan collars, the jaundiced belly-up of Woolworth turtles trapped in lacquered shells, the doll with an up-do the color of cologne. And hello sun: a touch- [...]