David Schuman directs the MFA program at Washington University in St. Louis. His work has appeared in Catapult, Joyland, The Rumpus and many other publications.
When you think of white do you think of Rembrandt in darkness pockmarked a sieve or a monkfish Ahead now ahead then: ash scrub pine shade and Penny –– then twelve then my brother’s sole friend
Underneath the electric microscope frass gathered like a word no one could pronounce, or something children left in a cage. Sugar ants were gorging on the corpse of a cicada next to the front door. Soon four golden mounds were theirs, to carry back in their lemony bellies to the queen. I have a box of nine suns set on spikes, a pair of gray bags concealing speakers. I am your teacher, said the teacher, alone in a room. If there is a predicate to this.