Two Girls on a Bridge
They scream — one clung to the side as the other boldly goes, ferocious feet and a creaking gangplank foundered on this prairie soil. CLICK TO LISTEN TO THE RECORDING
They scream — one clung to the side as the other boldly goes, ferocious feet and a creaking gangplank foundered on this prairie soil. CLICK TO LISTEN TO THE RECORDING
Apples put to bed, the children’s voice distant. Rattle-tap, rattle-tap go the busy bottles until the gas dies. Then silence. Lids popping, shutters snapping closed on another summer. CLICK TO LISTEN TO THE RECORDING
Foghorn: black velvet, heaven on a gurney. Timber collapsing under the weight of time. Sapling, swaying softly, green. CLICK TO LISTEN TO THE RECORDING
Fireflies and lightening, villages blinking like stars. All these flashes of light. CLICK TO LISTEN TO THE RECORDING
His bronze skin as he hushes the crowds, directs them toward the jumble of my microphone. I was once a king, he says, and I came to Earth. One day, you and I will meet in heaven. CLICK TO LISTEN TO THE RECORDING
The way bodies layer on bodies, these disasters, insurgencies, these plastic sandals and car parts. The way the morning crows squawk atop Shiva. CLICK TO LISTEN TO THE RECORDING
These notes from when the world was all skinned knees and lonesome summers, til now: this wine, we mothers, and the far reaches of the earth. Time slips. CLICK TO LISTEN TO THE RECORDING