by Tracy Lyall Songs of 70s rock stars are fading, with old albums—vinyl records in colorful covers stacked on top of each other, thirty, forty at a time—lying dormant in a thrift-store window display. The roller rink is closed down, wooden floors scratched by skate wheels, molding and mildewing. The…
By Lavonne Westbrooks Lying in grass, drinking blackberry wine I watch two hawks arguing territory with crow. Ee-ow, ee-ow, I call. They respond, settle differences; quiet descends. Never been to Spain or Africa or any Asian country, only London when I was five. I remember Father Christmas left presents on…