Honorable Mention: Desire, That Fish, Swims Up Against My Ankles
Nissa LeeThat man’s voice echoes
in my head, out in the fog
against the creak of boat hull.
Philadelphia Stories: Publishing Local Writers & Artists
That man’s voice echoes
in my head, out in the fog
against the creak of boat hull.
Mostly because in the north, Sundews thrive.
Mostly, because lamps cannot evolve, unless
taken apart, maybe reused. Or they are thrown away.
Start at the northernmost point—the fall,
I stare at your balding head as you drive
Something must be wrong, reporters wrote,
their bets on radium, the gram they said she carried
everywhere, like Freud’s cocaine or the Heart of Mary.
Recently, I attended the joyous funeral of my 94 year old grandmother
As I imagined myself racing against Olympic skaters, my fingertips tingling as I gained speed, I forgot about being the only brown girl at an almost all white school.
This year, in fact, he had made a list of eligible women and he would begin (after August vacation) to interview them, as it were.
“Butter is too bold,” Caroline announced, tossing the sheet of color samples to the floor. “In fact, this entire strip is too loud.”
The summer my father left us, our front yard was filled with deep, grave-sized pits.
Everything I do that may seem different or separate from my writing, in fact, feeds my writing. I’m writing all the time, as I suspect most of us writers are, but I don’t mean physically putting pen to paper.