Writing

Military Dream Tell me again what was overheard Through the door they forced open: Seeing the flesh within As boot heels scraped down dusty ramparts. It was an army man, as fake and plastic  As any spine that bends so When men flex their fake and plastic hands.  And there were the most beautiful dresses I’ve ever seen: they were crumpled up hastily under the cot— Each of us unmoored and sweaty  without knowing why, Waking from the dream and thinking in your  Big dog brain Was

Growing Fur When all of the little raindrop moments shed From my human skin like starlike shimmering– It seems that it’s always night when you and I meet– I turned thirty. Already I was seeing the future again, Between your lips, reluctant sometimes, Other times parted on me by your devouring teeth.  I saw the fuzzy shapes of animal love. On those winter mornings, fog thick enough to obscure the houses  but not the tops of trees, we came close enough To see the outlines of ea

A short story by Willow Beaudet The First Night When Dolicker sat by the fire with me and dropped a burning twig into the ceremonial plate, the air grew lush with spice. The whole trip he had been telling stories, he and his pikemen retelling fables up even the steepest climbs. It had been four whole days of tales and gossip, Dolicker himself identifying plants and pointing out cloud formations, this man or that telling the stories of their scars. I had seen the passion in th