Excerpts
Oil and Myrrh
How she’d never hear the sound of her own humming There would be musicmade only from machinesthe monotone piercingan electronic originationnot from the hands of humansor the skins of animals In the name of the Father We tell ourselves differentlybut there are only two worlds She could not take the same breath we taketo recreate …
The Interview
I shuffe past the school’sfortified metal. Guards frisk me as I approach, ask me to leavemy name, phone number, time of day; why I’m here in a book.I think default procedure. Maybe, I’m heartenedby their arm’s gesture, how not one pats me down;says, this way, madam. Maybe this is the way a mind deadensto what …
Dad 3
Stories my dad told me, but I could never figure outwhich ones. All mixed up for a kid like me, wide-eyed, sleepy head.Some Southern dialect from Puglia mostly;a rugged countrysidedotted with confino ghosts,scarred memories,reporting each morning il posto di polizia,and then the day was yours basking in the sunof your morning …
Ode to the Penis
Someone told me that what I writeabout men is objectifying. So I ask you,O general idea of the penis, do you mindbeing noticed? You who stand, in the mind—erect and not, old and young—for all your representations, O abstractprinciple, haven’t you maybe beenwaiting for your turn to be sung? I thinkyou’re lovely and brave, and …
Clean
Margo wanted to shower on a train. She pictured it thusly: a compact stall, neat, clean, maybe a seat in the corner. Her face upturned, eyes closed, and hot water streaming from a surprisingly strong showerhead, the train rocking gently beneath her, the water rolling rapidly over her. Around her, life on the train, families …
Lucky
I meant no disrespect to my body.Sleepless, I made my way to the outdoor showerhard rosebuds of insect bites rising. VitaminB, lavender oil, tea tree oil, Benadryl, nothing helped& nothing made me less of a feast to the predawnmosquitoes & fleas. Long ago I held a mesh bagseething w/ ladybugs, my first sense of wealth,all …
Working Girl
I want to be a model or a writer. I am neither of these things. What I am is fifteen and five foot eight, with collarbones deep enough to drink my black coffee out of, a head full of dreams, and a job with Western Australia’s largest and only Sunday newspaper. The job is my …
Federer as Irreligious Experience
In 2006 David Foster Wallace opened his much celebrated New York Times Magazine essay “Federer as Religious Experience” with “Almost anyone who loves tennis and follows the men’s tour on television has, over the last few years, had what might be termed Federer Moments. These are times, as you watch the young Swiss play, when …
High School Yoga
Miss, can you play this song today in yoga class? I’ve been thinking about the story you told us last weekand the question you asked . . . If we are Krishna, Arjuna and everything what does it matter? I couldn’t go to Five Points for the quinceañera not that she was a close friend …