For Denis Johnson: Estranha Forma de Vida (Feel It Still)
bySomething is just too funny. I have no idea what it is, because I do not speak Portuguese, just working-class English and a piddling bit of pauvre Francaise. The laughter…
Stories
Ash Wednesday
byTHE WIND KICKED UP, BLOWING THROUGH THE CONCRETE CANYONS near St. Peter’s in downtown Manhattan. Hair fled unmoored, resembling Medusa halos, framing faces marked with the moist cruxes from Ash Wednesday…
Breakup with a Goddess
byHE TOLD ME TO CONNECT THE DOTTED LIGHTS of the highway into maps, shapes of beauty. Shapes of beauty to him. I did not, and let my toes compress the dirt…
Muskie Doll Maker
byLIFE IS THE SHIT IN PEE PEE TOWNSHIP, OHIO. I nudged one nostril shut with my knuckle and snorted a fourteen-inch festoon of fire ants melting into a pineapple popsicle….
Traps
byEVERY DAY ON THE MOUNTAIN I AWAKEN TO FISH OR FORAGE, and every day at 4pm my walkie-talkie crackles with Uncle Mack’s voice ordering us down to target practice. Afternoons, I…
Mystic Pizza II
byTHERE WAS SOMETHING AWFUL ABOUT HOW THE PHONE RANG. It spoiled the oven’s hum and the patience of gathering snow. The squeak of non-slip shoe on non-slip tile. There hadn’t been…
No Matter
byWEARING A HOUSECOAT STAINED WITH BRISKET AND BORSCHT, my grandmother stands in the doorway blocking the light. She spits three times, mutters pu pu pu, mumbles a prayer. When she’s finished,…
Joy
byIT’S ANOTHER NIGHT AT THE PET STORE and I’m stocking the shelves with cat food when the new girl taps on my shoulder. She’s about half my height and is probably…
Creature
byWE FIND IT HUNCHED ON A ROOT OF A CYPRESS TREE at the edge of the bayou around eight o’clock. Dad checks the crab traps for the third time today….
Crack
byIT STARTS WITH A CRACK IN THE WALL. It is a thin line, barely visible and it runs along the molding of the staircase leading upstairs. *** They stay at…