Parable of the Wolf Wherever You Are | Heavy Bombardment | Model Organism
Autobiography | Dues | Family Mentality
Crossing Point | Single Occupancy Unity | The Hedging Season
Ghost Coming to Terms | Medium after Trances | Medium on the Sleeping Arrangements of the Dead
Corrections | Ought
as exhibited | cow | rejoinder
Four Words of the Apocalypse | Eleusinian Mystery | Diving In
Tennessee Is Burning | Why I Couldn’t Write | Final Days, 2016
Karl finally arrives home. With him in the car is his mother, she sits in the passenger seat as he rolls down the driveway . . .
She needs not to hear the name, the mother whose child has died on the ferryboat . . .
I knew the dog was blind because while combing the shop I nearly tripped over the scrawny, scruffy Pomeranian—which didn’t pompom the way those dogs are supposed to . . .
Just before the Avenue of Eternal Peace stand the snow white headquarters of the China Women’s Organization . . .
I always want to write about my mother’s hands. Her veins bulge, green and purple beneath her skin, and sometimes when she’s tired they travel up her wrists like garden snakes . . .
Smell of sweet olive. Picking satsumas, kumquats, lemons, whatever overhung the sidewalk. Japanese plums from the tree in front of the house . . .
I involuntarily recall a story I heard on NPR. A group of boys rape a 12-year-old girl. In an abandoned hunting cabin in the woods. At a summer camp . . .