Excerpts
The Great American Novel
Is it conceivable that you could write a novel in which blacks arenot center stage?Bill Moyers to Toni Morrison, March 1990 Imagine you are a boy in the Midwest with a slingshot in your pocket.Your dad’s under the Chevy, and oil like blood slides across sleek cementto stain your white sneakers. Then you’re thirty. Built …
Asteroid Recovery
At the moment of impact, my brother said he felt nothing, he felt himself to be nothing, a curl of smoke from some extinguishment, the last of the species of himself, caught in the very moment of extinction. The cupboards of his clapboard chest shook enough to shatter their earthenware to the floor, and then …
Who will die tonight?
Who will die tonight?Tonightwe hear the voices of machine gunsnot death's footstepsWho guides the bullet to choose who dies?The one who fires the gun?The bullet?Death itself?The one who dies?Or you, hiding we don't know where,or you, who we call by name?Who will rest among us?The sniper?The bullet?The one who stays behind to count the deador …
Who will die tonight?
The Shadow
Joshua Leon felt his body tense in his uniform as the plane jangled to the drop point, and the rest of his unit held onto their seats. The flurry of the aircraft carrier was behind them, and now they were concentrating for the mission, the blue waters of the Caribbean turning over below them. There were …
Afraid to Pray
Dear God I’m afraid if I pray for my daughter’s safety you’ll blithelyallow her to get raped or abducted or crash on a highwayon a perfect summer day. Forget I mentioned my daughter. What daughter? I remember how Anne Frank believed in the goodness of mankind.I wonder how she felt the moment her diary was …
Maricón
In memory of Emile Griffith (1938-2013) and Benny ‘‘Kid’’ Peret (1937–1962) And a man who has found prowess in boxing,grant him favor and joy. – Pindar I "Whoever controls the breathing in the ringcontrols the fight," my father says. Smell of sweat,Vaseline and bleach, sting of ammonia. "The art of self-defense is crucial." The gym …
Migration Narrative
What wilts becomesthe world for the weary.They can’t help but wonder at the lovelyshadow touch of anotherwar’s rubbled song. If crossing freely into firecan churn the blood’shollow music, then surely the orphan canask at dusk for waterand get more than spit.
Madness Is Remembering
First, he reminded you of Eros in the cave. In Paris, you saw Canova’s sculpture Psyche Revived by Cupid’s Kiss shortly before you met him, and when you invited him into your bed, you saw his naked form and remembered the statue, and named him Love: delicate, yet masculine, waif-like but sure as the white …