From Alpine, the brief stretch to Marfa, and
onto forlorn Van Horn: more dead mammals
than should exist, just bits of animals,
of blood and fur, smearing the road. The land
looks barren, yet it yields this horde of lives,
as evidenced by deaths so numerous.
Continue reading “Scott Wiggerman: “The Slaughter””
“Yesterday’s gone on down the river and you can’t get it back.” ~Larry McMurtry, Lonesome Dove
When I was born, my parents brought me from the hospital to my grandparents’ house. Of course I don’t remember that happening, but maybe that day has something to do with the peace I still feel when I step through the threshold of that old house—which, by the way, my husband and I own and lease. I think if I could sit alone in the house for a few hours, the memories of my childhood might slip under my skin and settle in for a while. I’d love to relive every moment I ever spent with my grandparents.
Continue reading “Michelle Lansdale: “Sassafras Jack and Louise””
Why do I sit here, sit in this room with its heavy drapes blocking the sun, my feet on the thick and dusty carpet, the sagging ornate lamps flickering? It’s a big yet claustrophobic room, and I am listening to a young man I barely know sing wretched out of tune songs, and recite self-absorbed, crappy poems.
Continue reading “Chuck Taylor: “Kiss My Feet””