“So,” Andy says, lowering his pint of Heineken. “Where ya from then?” The Brazen Head is loud. It’s not American-college-bar-loud, where drunken sorority chicks whoo after having a shot of tequila, but loud with the murmur of conversation. Glasses clang
Category: Fall 2017
Sunlight spirals out from a confusion of tag elder crowding the edges of this narrow expanse, a slow succession of species in the landscape—changes, changes— is this renewal? In the felt heat of midday, dragonflies swim light, splash in
On remote Norton Island off the coast of Maine less than a month after my father died the moon has yet to practice this particular loss I must have seen it quartered like this before, but this waning after
The sand sloshes beneath his boots, lacking the satisfying crunch of childhood memory, a youth shaped by churning tides demarking a terrain too bitterly humid for daytime habitation. As the town grew increasingly nocturnal, his parents ventured out only
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