Poetry
Summer 1998
Breaking the Jug
I held the gallon jug in my right hand, One finger curling into its mouth like a question, And I hurled it at the wall. It had a decent heft, […]
Poetry
Winter 1991
How to Eat
for L. Y. My mother’s mother’s father made a table. To build the top he shaped irregular woodInto inlaid geometry. Each square’s cornersCenter the sides of the next largest square, […]