Terrain.org

Notes on a School Shooting I am not an open wound. I am four hundred miles   and two thousand days removed, the evidence of a path crossed gathering dust in my parents’ office drawer. I am pacing the stalls at a Christmas market; I am drifting in the dairy aisle; I am buying wrapping paper; I am walking the dog. I am, I am, I am, I am—the tense a gross privilege, an intact ad...

  black bear sighting   don’t speak the lord’s name in vain where the fungi can hear us i carry ice cubes across the yard for the orchids from my boy -friend but often wish i could do more for the amanita mushrooms off the abandoned two -track near the bird sanctuary destroying angels that’s what dad’s old friend Ralph Munch called them their gills free white for imp...

Old Roads, New Stories: A Literary Series Economy Psalm One day the Leaders decided,    No more homes. An attic would be good enough,   with plank floors engineered to creak at random, and windows that make use of source-light, the sun-streaks streaming in to brighten floating dust and add a little ambience. Over there—an arm...

How to Skin a Gazelle Inland the stars fall barebone / and white-livered through     each bedroom we have built. Voices cast / to thin sky as homing pigeons / with no place to land. Across Beirut an     orange tabby walks ear deaf to ground / stalking a sound in ebb. He is lucky, see / to chew only on dust and quiet     […]

The post

Every event is merely a probability; nothing is absolutely impossible. should turn off the light. The lamp is on a table by my bed, a small claw foot table carved by my mother’s uncle. At 60 years old, it is one of the youngest pieces of furniture in this house. The house was built in 1881 and furniture has been added, added but seldom subtracted, ever since: a chandelier...