Passenger
I wonder at your nonchalance as you drive one-handed, not even that— two-fingered, really while the world flies by at […]
I wonder at your nonchalance as you drive one-handed, not even that— two-fingered, really while the world flies by at […]
Out of the quarrel with others we make rhetoric; out of the quarrel with ourselves we make poetry. —W.B. Yeats
—for Diana Bridge Our mothers: we’ve described symptoms you rarely share outside the family home and not often there: a
It is that moment when the moon is a glaring crescent, slowly engulfed by the impending night— when the few
On the Avenue of the Americas, at noon two weeks ago Tuesday, a nun paced the grimy concrete, robed in
I’m waking from the early afternoon, I watch the trees outside nod with the wind. I need to go and