New Collage



I had to rush it for a deadline, but it turned out better than I expected.

I am almost recovered from the AWP fever or plague -- sniffles and a general feeling of discontent. Here it is:

Home Surgery


he climbed into the sink, small fists in the tangle
of silverware, the messy oatmeal muck, while
she banged on the window beside the feeder,

creamy wax stuffed with tiny yellow pellets
and sunflower seeds, laughed as the cardinals
startled, filled the yard with flying red and husks:

the bleach bottle under the sink hidden by fake
yellow carnations, thread tangled in their dusty
stems, and how should she hold the needle,

watch Sammie like a hawk, she had said,
her mother, who had taught her to knot
the thread three times and bite instead of cut

I'll be at AWP until Saturday afternoon. Feel free to hunt me down and tell me all the things you always wanted to say.

City Under the Stairs

Fake wood paneling, blue and white wallpaper
where the ceiling slopes to the floor, around
the edges of the door frame. A musty smell.
The urge to sneeze. A string leading to
an empty light socket, dangling from the ceiling.
A tiny army man on his belly under your shoe.