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Poetry
… bark, the way everything talks to everything, pinpoints of light within the light… stand between all of …
Fiction
… to the west, pale blue distance. Sporadic birds and mammals, along with snakes and lizards, survive on next to … chair beside a refrigerator on the other. Children are coming home from school carrying their book bags and … when she and her husband got married, and when her parents died, Señora Astacio moved to the bigger house, thinking the …
Poetry
… “Make of yourself a light,” said the Buddha, before he died. I think of this every morning as the east begins to …
Fiction
… rode in front, then Guerrier who had just been made a soldier by Papa Toussaint, and Guiaou third. Guiaou had never … “ Poukisa y’ap vini? ” Guerrier asked. What have they come for? “To make us slaves again,” Coachy said shortly. … a horse had not already twisted a leg among the mangroves. Also it might be a long way before they found another broad, …
Criticism
… texts, and an obsession with glossing (the endnotes that accompany The Master Letters make a new genre of the form). … Old World circus, part Waffle House—among them hospitals, castles, cookie jars, teacups, drawers, barns, heaven, … Will (perhaps tomorrow) die. An alter ego, Dove, flits in and out of the cages of …
Poetry
… delay me. Snow, rain, heat, etc. can’t stay me from the completion of my dismantling you, my being rid of you. I … their true proportions. How small they always were— not false, but trivial. I make a heap out of you. You’re not dead, of course. You said yourself you can never die, so that was never the point. The point is this: Here, …