Lara Holmes is not a drunk. She seriously objects to labels which reduce individuals to past participles. Lara would hardly be capable of saying “past participles” if she were drunk – ‘a drunk’. She never drinks on week nights- not since last week’s scare on the bypass; the blue lights jerking her out of early morning autopilot ...
Weekly Read's blog
5AM, a spattering of robins and wrens
chattering about the coming light
and the dangers of the waking world
in a balding ash. A television blares ...
You found a baby millipede in the garden. When you saw it under the roots of a weed you'd pulled it reminded you of another creature, fast asleep several thousands of miles away. You leaned down, picked it up, and laid it on your palm. It looked even smaller there, a russet spiral in a valley of skin. Perhaps it was dead, but you told yourself that it must simply be sleeping. You thought about the other creature and wondered ...
Through the slats
of a powder blue staircase
bright red bougainvillea
a neighbor chatters
someone practices the piano ...
She bites off an arm’s length
of black thread.
Putting spool back into workbox
she licks the tip—
Elbows braced on cold windowsill
she holds needle to grey light ...
Remember the yellow house that stood
for years, empty, used for nothing
A house built to last
until the end of days, or rot
in place? ...
“Where are you from?” you asked me—
my throat closed on the impossible answers.
Can I claim a nation, a state or a city
as mine, without disowning all others? ...
Left, unread books in the shelf
Bend over the sliding glass;
See evidence of dereliction
While peeping through
Its last touched pages...
The flock flew through a hailstorm,
unaware of pelting ice.
In mad darts, flight without form,
the flock flew through a hailstorm. ...
Gray regime breakfast
blunt and slow: rain pouring
As the television drones
of political sports,
the dry eggs assault me
with unknown ingredients.
Finally, the big game:
the crowd watches, aghast...