I last saw Daddy when I was eight. He said he was “getting married”; he said he wouldn’t be seeing me again, but–dammit–I was eight. Glad for him, I guess I wondered if I’d be going to visit him, now that he’d have a house. What I didn’t get was he was walking away to [...]
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… beware a woman with no obvious vices …
Tagged: Kate McIntire
Pin-striped beetle with a polka-dotted head
one of your antennae is curled.
Now, untenable antennae
make your computations many.
You go ‘round and ‘round and ‘round
in your world.
In a word, concentric circles are confining.
There’s no nourishment upon the central shelf.
You’re alive—but are you well,
as your curled antennae tell?
Til now, only family had talked with me after dying. I went cold when I realized who it was — our former church minister [imagine his surprise when he opened his eyes and was not standing at the Pearly Gates.] For a quick second, I wished I could see him. This one is hard to believe.
But, [...]
bastard bit me so I threw off my fluffy robe, pulled the t-shirt over my head and reached up my own back as far as I could. While I’m doing this flailing-arms-and-titty dance, a guy in a ballcap …
dawn at a low slant
beneath the elms
watch the sun
I put two in his face, handed the .22 to Dub and walked away thinking, Some guys shouldn’t be allowed to take their penis with them when they leave the house.
Writers are snoops from childhood, I’m inclined to believe. Shrinks call that “a high level of curiousity” and declare it a good thing. However, I used to get in big trouble for snooping–any purse left unattended–even in the owner’s bedroom, drawers, shelves, the heart-shaped red chocolates box my Aunt kept her letters in. Definitely not the [...]
Beneath the camel’s gaze sits a Florentine glass paperweight, slightly behind
Two inches of water
stand. Shiny puddle
in a blackened stone bowl.
Wee brown down thing,
wind-puffed; yellow legs
lengthened in liquid glass.
You blow like a leaf
into the dish, dip
and look up. Dip.
Look up. Hop. Fly.
Digging through the closets in my mind
like one in winter shivering from the cold
yearns for wool against the frozen wind.