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Maine Escapes
The deckhand helps where he can. He flips a few lobsters right side up. He tucks a stray antenna away from the pinch of the crate’s hinges. The lobsters, when he holds them, emit a faint buzzing noise — sort of like a scream, if you think about it, and the deckhand does.
November 2020Last Writes
My friend possessed the inclination and the ability to turn her experience of the world into a language that insisted on delighting in itself.
June 2020Murder Me Nicely
I’d brought one small bag. A squirrel looked at me and my bag and then ran off, I was sure, to tell the rest of the woodland creatures that a woman had just arrived who had no idea how to pack, let alone survive in the woods: Quick, tell the local serial killer. All that from one squirrel side-eye.
May 2020After The Reading
a woman walked up and asked how / the young black poet the month before / could shake with such anger during / his reading. Is it really / that bad? It can’t be that bad, / can it?
February 2020The Library
We need constant proof that we’re not alone. And if we don’t see a companion, we strain to hear one in the dark. And when there is no whistle in return? I’m here to tell you, we will make one up.
May 2019When He Was Gone
I felt I was supposed to pretend I was a little sad he was gone — at least, for the first few days. I told him I missed him, because I did. I’m not a complete monster.
May 2019