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William Heyen


The Coffin

1. The dead canes snap from their roots, traces of dark red in their heartwood. 2. Bad knee aching, ankle clucking like an old hen— where is the something transcending everything? 3. When I was young I understood the winter bed, canes reaching like [...]


Cherry, I said to myself, trying too hard to experience that tree above the auction crowd. Its lowest limbs had been picked clean, but ripe fruit bobbed above us in leaf-shifting wind as the tree resisted the human, our money worries, the generations [...]

The Shore

Knee-deep in muck, I lurched across marshland to a saw-grass hummock out from where I cast a lung-smashed bullfrog, sinking, now, into the treachery of memory at line's end. If you want to, tell your own uncertain stories, but that day I dragged a sn [...]