Letter for Elena Ferrante: Between Stations

One condition of emergence is flight        like the inside of an inside joke       it’s a public private thing like property         or a golf widow gazing         into her glass of gin         where does the time go where the cardinal … Continued


Translated from Persian by Idra Novey and Ahmad Nadalizadeh Of the moon all that’s left is a stain upon the window Of all the waters in the world this single drop on your cheek And the borders have painted over … Continued

Portrait of a Sea Woman

The clam grew depraved in the dark toe of a rubber boot, draped in fashion seaweed. I was a mermaid martyr who lusted after those boots. Then winter came. The black pond froze its black-eyed octopi, and I formed my … Continued

The End of Team Fortune Telling

She was feeling zodiacal, but I was having none of it, carving runes in the dirt and telling time by trees. She had a palmful of constellations— a harp strung with lines from flesh to stars—but I was earth song, … Continued


We were hard at work with the starving, a dozen white plates set out before us, one copper coin in the middle of each.   We had learned to love what wasn’t there, our last milk left out for feral … Continued


Have you seen cars in the past 10 years have you heard Voices followed them to the curb Left out bowls of milk Are you thirsty all the time How thirsty how encamped Your hair does it hurt How would … Continued

A Legacy of Wallace Stevens

Translated from the Portuguese by Maryam Monalisa Gharavi   Just like someone who —agnostic, skeptical, sarcastic unbeliever— extends strings of garlic throughout the house, to ward off bad luck. Just like someone who plurifies the ferocity of the mind, watches over the … Continued

Sometimes, Gender

Girls are quick to turn sour like milk or lemons. Boys grow antlers. At recess in the cold, I scuffed the edges of both circles, played team sports & the piano. Sometimes gender needs a new winter coat, or a … Continued

The Bishop of Bamberg

This is how he lived, with a messianic faith in his uniqueness. Every parishioner he touched, he became. This was mostly to the good. Gracious and stiff with his hand on the burgomaster’s cloak. Pedantic and disappointed when slipping the … Continued

In the Garden

You cry at the Sun Door then rush into the light. Is it feathered there—is it lined with pliant mousy fats? Is this where smell and sight combine? Are the roses lions’ heads? Are the roses ornamental, or is their … Continued


On the shoulder of St Jerome a bird speaks but cannot write and afraid of the past tense speaks prophecy The saint is the bird’s way of delivering messages but translation is difficult god’s voice or not and we have … Continued


Oh Idea, I try to by Jolly. I love you with my wooden sides. My flapping cardboard mast. Roll my name along, please, with your bearings. Merrily I’ll climb back into the Metal Caul. I fear we’ve hyphenated. ### Amy … Continued

The Old Now ||| Architrave Press

You might know it as yesterday. It currently sits in a back room knowing its moment wrinkled like water over creek stones then passed thoughtlessly away so now it holds vigil elbows propped on the windowsill studying rabbits and how … Continued

The Spirits of Suicide Forest

AKIGOHARA, JAPAN Visitors spot them clinging to the crooked pines. Spirit behaviors reported by day-tripping salary men can be pure absurdist theater or merely prankish— water taken from day packs stuck upside down in the mud, the braids of twin … Continued


Is one of the symptoms remembering the ghosts one has seen? I am not going to sign my name to this postcard because who knows whose eyes will see it besides yours and you should know who is in Mogadishu … Continued

Portable Cities

after yin xiuzhen \ Pack my village in your suitcase let’s get out of here. Here’s our hovercraft, here’s our disk drive, here’s our charioteer. Smell the colossus of our footprints—glass burns, copper verdure, the valley sings. Singe your fingers … Continued

The Flies ||| Rattle

That summer day it all went bad a swarm of flies infested the house, entered through holes in the screens and settled upstairs in the room I was using to type my novel. They buzzed boldly, each big as a … Continued