#AmericanWriters
The new grass rising in the hills, the cows loitering in the morning… a dozen or more old browns hidden in the shadows of the cottonwoods beside the streambed. I go higher
In the early morning before the sh… opens, men standing out in the yar… on pine planks over the umber mud. The oil drum, squat, brooding, bri… with metal scraps, three-armed cro…
First light. This misted field is the world, that man slipping the greased bolt back and forth, that man tunneled with blood
It’s wonderful how I jog on four honed-down ivory toes my massive buttocks slipping like oiled parts with each light s… I’m to market. I can smell
When the Lieutenant of the Guardi… heard the automatic go off, he tur… and took the second shot just abov… the sternum, the third tore away the right shoulder of his uniform,
The gates are chained, the barbed-… An iron authority against the snow… And this grey monument to common s… Resists the weather. Fears of idl… Of protest, men in league, and of…
A good man is seized by the police and spirited away. Months later someone brags that he shot him onc… through the back of the head with a Walther 7.65, and his life
One was kicked in the stomach until he vomited, then made to put back into his mouth what they had brought forth; when he tried to dr…
The sun came up before breakfast, perfectly round and yellow, and we dressed in the soft light and shoo… our long blond curls and waited for Maid to brush them flat and pl…
On March 1, 1958, four deserters… August Rein, Henri Bruette, Jac… government pay station at Orleansv… confession of Dauville the other t… was given his freedom and returned…
He tells me in Bangkok he’s robbe… Because he’s white; in London bec… In Barcelona, Jew; in Paris, Ara… Everywhere and at all times, and h… He holds up seven thick little fin…
This has nothing to do with war or the end of the world. She dreams there are gray starlings on the winter lawn and the buds of next year’s oranges alongside
It has been raining now since long before dawn, and the windows of the Arab coffee house of Delra… are steamed over and no one looks in or out. If I were on my way
She wakens early remembering her father rising in the dark lighting the stove with a match scraped on the floor. Then measuri… water for coffee, and later the sm…
The ship that took my mother to E… Eighty-three years ago was named “… She remembers trying to eat a bana… without first peeling it and seein… in the hands of a young Scot, a se…