We remember the rabbit when we see the duck, but we cannot experience both at the same time. —E.H. Gombrich, Art and Illusion
What do you remember? When I looked at
his streaky glasses, I wanted
to leave him. And before that? He stole those
cherries for me at midnight. We were walking Continue reading
I’ve been fairly contemplative, a bit meta, over this whole crazy thing that IS grad school – specifically, English graduate school. Everyone says graduate school is terrible, but you love it, but you hate it, and you have no free time because classes and research suck your life. But – and maybe this is just me – it really doesn’t seem that bad. So here are my thoughts, on what this is like. For me, at least. Continue reading
When she sleeps
She must be in Senegal somewhere.
The tide goes out from every shore
In the world,
And in the middle of the sea Continue reading
You entered the bedroom and fell to your knees.
I wait the rest of my life to hear you say, I made a mistake.
Inside my chest, a mangle.
Inside yours, a deflating balloon. Continue reading
Last night, feeling rather morose and mopey and altogether out of sorts, I wrote about missing places I’ve grown so fond of. Afterwards, I was surprised and cheered to find that, as it turns out, I am not the only one.
Over and over, I saw people I love and respect from my alma mater saying the same things, more or less, in their own ways. I am homesick. Something is not right. Where is home? Continue reading
Pathway to a church in Hadleigh, UK
Tonight, there is no where I want to be so much as the other side of the Atlantic. I imagine that the sun is washing London pink and orange now; it’s summer, and morning comes early. I imagine the beds I have no slept in in a good long while—near Heathrow, and the two-inch mattress on the seventh floor of Manson Place, and the couch in Florence under fourteen-foot-high Tuscan ceilings. The futon in Naples and the bunk at Castle Rock, Edinburgh. The floor of a Dublin hotel room, sneaking. S’s mother’s house near Ipswich, with a little window to the room so you could open it an look out over the street. Continue reading
Late August, given heavy rain and sun
For a full week, the blackberries would ripen.
At first, just one, a glossy purple clot
Among others, red, green, hard as a knot.
You ate that first one and its flesh was sweet Continue reading