Patricia Lockwood

Father Gravitational’s Wig Flies Off According to his laws, and floats according to them, and joins a flock of seagulls, and summers with them, slaty-backed, and winters with them, glaucous-winged, according to his laws. Father Gravitational [...]

Father Fibonacci Is Deafer By the Minute And longs for the cochlear curls of his youth, which stayed on the pillow one afternoon, but still he works; hearless, he kneels in the rows. Above the birds are ribs of umbrellas. Father Fibonacci grows [...]

Mother Acrostic Lays One Fat Finger Down the middle of a page, and reads it aloud, ligatures and all. It is a bestiary, or a book of lives, a passional or corpus; it will not survive, from flyspecks to flyleaves, will be lost along with her han [...]