Lyric Prose |
“You & the Dying Languages,” “You in Exile” & “A Girl Like You”
“But when your father, then your mother, died, you imposed sanctions on your own grief and resumed your steady gait to work. Because who is ever really punished by a republic of troubled ghosts?”
Essay |
“The Water Lot”
“Stories were the common currency in lumber camp, kitchen, and barn. Tink, who began logging at 13 years old and weighing 108 pounds, blessed our family with a lot of those tales.”
Lyric Prose |
“Bernini In Love” & “Looking at a Desert Landscape Painting While Isolated with Covid”
“But she eluded him — not just in the statue, which he worked on alone, day after day, but in the tumble of tapestries where she lay naked and laughing on his studio floor.”
Lyric Prose |
“This is me signaling you in Applesauce and Canned Fruit” & “So many mixed messages as I push my body through Athletics”
“So many varieties of ruched bra-like items and comfy leopard pants you can lift purple weights in. They brush against my unformed self.”
Lyric Prose |
“Skate All the Way” & “I’ll Pick an Offering”
“Skate all the way. A slow two blocks to the park and then the two blocks back to your grandparents’ house on Robertson Road. The yellow house with the black porch swing and slick carport. Grapes in the arbor, hard and green.”
Lyric Prose |
“Ashes, Ashes”
“The ash content in the atmosphere creates gorgeous sunsets over the still waters of Lake Tahoe — where I stand on its northern shore considering the aperture settings on my camera …”
Lyric Prose |
“The Barn Swallow” & “Picasso vs. Dali”
“The church gave me permission to hang a painting in their hidden poker room. I’m not religious, but the church and I have a professional relationship.”
Lyric Prose |
“The Neighborhood of Make-Believe” & “My Mother Looks for Me as a Baby”
“We came to your side of town wanting to get away from our side. We brought this desire with us. Carrying it in suitcases. Sacks that weighed on our backs.”
Lyric Prose |
“Under the Harsh Light”
“Coming back from the countryside to be a high school teacher, I said, My nose is not pretty, when the school leader said, You have such beautiful eyes.”
Lyric Prose |
“Uranus’ OKCupid Profile”
“Why all this emphasis on having a solid surface? What’s wrong with being a mass of churning liquid? What even is a surface anyway?”
Lyric Prose |
“Breakfast,” “The Summit” & “The Red Bike”
“It was Tuesday, Tuesday with no Wednesday to follow, no Monday to precede. The hour hand on the clock whirled like a propellor, so fast it stood motionless. The second hand inched forward, unbearably slow.”
Lyric Prose |
on “Poems Not Written” — a recurring feature On The Seawall
“I used to tell my creative writing students when they got stuck to write absolutely anything at all for seven minutes.”
Lyric Prose |
“My Mom’s Knitting Bag is Still Filled With Her Last Projects,” “Last Night I Saw Mom at a Party” & “Aren’t Healthy People Unaware of Their Heartbeats?”
“No past nor future was mentioned, only the clicking of needles or scissors’ snips were heard. At times silence was broken by the difficulties in finding a certain silk thread in a matching color.”
Lyric Prose |
“Water Monologues”
“My wife went out to check the cars and they were submerged. But that’s not what she said. She said, ‘Look — a fox.'”
Lyric Prose |
“Under Canine (outtakes)”
“Let Ramón remind the Lady that he is a Blessed Creature of the Living God, no less an Incarnation than she, more holy than profane in all his doings, as Beautiful as a Good Dog on a day at the Dog Park, when dog frolic is the movement of heaven.”