Haunted at Home

Haunted, some might call it. I say, At home. The past is here, ripe and palpable, reaching out to us. Hoping we reach back.


Was he Billy Pilgrim?

One morning, when our tea kettle could no longer whistle, we took our car out to Lanesboro, eyes still sticky with sleep, to an old diner, unfamiliar then, where a man sitting at the counter, face sun-spotted and forgotten, slumped over a cold cup of coffee, his body, seemingly immovable, turned towards us with movement […]




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Katharina Kepler’s Confession (1546-1622)

I laugh—oh the things I would have conjured / could I conjure: silicone Ohropax, flashlights, / popsicles, plastic diapers, tampons— / I was always on my period


Fish Bone

I stop crying in the hospital lobby, because there I am confronted with companions in wailing I cannot compete with. Women crying, squeezing snot from their noses with their thumb and forefinger and flinging it at the ground.


close-up photo of a Jimmy Choo label on a high-heeled shoe

The Devil Wears Prada

Like any garment, men have their seasons.
I wear them to pay the rent.


The Geographies of Violence

The woman is still wiping blood off her face when a throng of villagers envelops her. You can no longer reach her amid the swarm that surrounds her.