Latest Writing
POETRY
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LETTER TO PHIL FROM MANITOU SPRINGS by George Kalamaras
Did Darwin name the world, or did you, Phil, in creating him for us? I swear a Galápagos tortoise inhabits my sleep. A dream broth. A cup of Genmaicha tea containing roasted grains of brown rice. It lays its eggs across the coral reef of my brain. Blonde. Blind. Without fish-mouth or salt.
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LIE DOWN WHERE THEIR FACES ARE by James Allen Hall
The woman across the street on her knees again, shut out in the snow by her husband. Every week, this ritual: a man, a crying woman, the blue cold earth that marries them. When he lets her in, she lays in bed next to him.
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ANTIPHON FOR THE OFFICE OF THE DEAD by William Kelley Woolfitt
a powder box and swans-down puff her limp stocking, a green satin fan spangled with dragonflies, curling-tongs small muslin bags, a pumice stone bits of skin, cut-glass bottles, cuticle knife, a darner, nail powder, sealing wax spirals of her hair, glove buttoner orangewood stick, gauze balls, shoe lift velvet brush, rabbit’s foot, pots of rouge…
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