by Jason Grant The entire king-sized bed is mine now, but I can’t seem to move from the left side to the right because on the nights you were here—laying there—if I dared move from my side to yours in the middle of the night it was like I-was-crossing-some-boundary you-needed…
by Alita Pirkopf In the clean, clean house, all the cleaning wiped away everything that touched me. No fingerprints on glass- topped tables or glass doors that slipped open and slid back. In a glass house almost without breathing, I watched my own master mother (who painted O’Keeffe animal skulls…
by Alita Pirkopf The chrysanthemum blossoms, heavily weighted, barely visible in snow, remind me of castanets held at the end of green-sleeved, graceful arms. Hands, fingers, clashing, clicking hardwood held by silk cord—my father’s magic and manipulation, when I was young, and he brought gifts from Spain.