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This poem was recently published in the 7th issue of the Dayton literary zine Mock Turtle. I have a nephew mishandled by God, apparently, in His steady derivations— he cannot ask us questions about himself. So the silk blanket hope for the first grandchild covered the cellular mass that barely smiled, and my family, rhetoricians […]
April 4, 2013
This poem was awarded second place for Poetry in Sinclair Community College’s Creative Writing Contest. I held my mother’s rigid-limp body, slapping her face, her thin stool seeping through her jeans—through mine, and moaning like a child, her grandchildrens’ names; and then paramedics rock on their heels telling my sister, “sure, you can change her,” […]
February 22, 2013
I’ve recently been thinking of how important it is for anyone of any art or science to understand the history of their pursuit; for if they want to make a lasting contribution to the world, they must place their work in the context of others work. After having read T.S. Eliot’s brilliant essay “Tradition and […]
February 21, 2013
An earlier version of this poem was published in the Spring 2012 edition of Wright State University’s “The Fogdog Review.” I picked two seeds from adjoining bushes: identical in size, shape, and color, save for the tops that grew first from their boughs. One was warm maroon, the other, cold blue. I carried them together […]
January 27, 2013
Colin’s apartment complex gleamed like a beacon in front of him—the various lights on and around the buildings all came on at about eight o’clock. It was a nice place to live, and the landlord was pretty hospitable, if a bit ableist. But then, he figured that most hospitable people were, to some degree; they […]
January 15, 2013
At my high school, there was this really shy girl named Shirley Little— she was probably about 5’2 and must’ve weighed at least three hundred pounds. She was so big, all the modeling hundred pounders, with their fake orange tans and flat ironed hair called her “The Humpback Whale.” Her back-fat did sort of give […]
December 31, 2012
The measure of an artist is how much–and how often–he listens to that little voice (inside his mechanism for self-criticism) saying, as he is making something: “that there strengthens this particular piece, but you must know that in most others it would be meaningless; you also know that it’s function is only to prove what […]
May 13, 2013
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