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  I was looking for a horse, but there was no horse, only the feed barn and above it the purple meat of sky: the smell of birch smoke and…    read more

  It is 1975, the year before my parents stop speaking. Old, rabbinical, Uncle Leo takes his glasses off to gesture, while on my shoulder my brother softly dozes. At…    read more

  Always, it seems, it has been like this: the phone cradled on my mother’s shoulder, her too-loud boyfriend laugh. When she whispers fork and spoon windchimes jangle on fish…    read more

  All day we watched it—my mother, brother, and I—the relentless wrath, the furious downpour of God. Our zucchini plants torn loose from the soil, lumber and stovepipe roiling in…    read more

  Sometimes my bones hum like Bunyan’s must have; world turned vassal to my will, whole cornfields swaying at my footsteps, thistles fleshed into fruit. Then I think I could…    read more

On a bucket outside the Saint Nowhere feed barn, cold, stolen apple juice dribbling down my chin, I looked out toward the madrones along the coast. Above my head hung…    read more

High atop a playground’s fuchsia frog a girl spits pomegranate seeds into the mammoth armful of meadow. The field troubles her with longing and culmination of longing: the yellow spikeweed…    read more