Online Exclusives

03.19.19
In the Permanent Collection
Do this in memory of my mother

and of my mother’s mother

Here is this lacquered box (Fig. 100.5)           inlaid

with their blood [...]
03.12.19
Nietzsche at Night
after collapsing at the plaza fountain in Turin Nietzsche gave up
coherent speech and stayed alive somewhere else for almost twelve years
his unmapped terrain resembled a canvas painted black in successive
luminous opacities of backlit abyss, if he turned on a television
this is what he saw, if he closed his eyes, if he looked out the window
again unshielded night [...]
03.05.19
The Page Turner
For once they all agreed, it would be the concert of the season, the return of the prodigy son. The Jerusalem music scene was in heat—survivors, empty seat fillers, remnants planted on their subscriptions, but from the neck up, in brainpans that went on ticking, still the strictest standards, the highest expectations. [...]
02.26.19
Three Poems
Winter was like my house: I showed

myself—human, bare but for my clothing,
and the blood boiling, the geranium,

and other gifts. Bare but for the objects
that claimed me. [...]
02.19.19
Three Poems
My mother cracked each day open like a gutted fish.
Her hours, a tarp draped over a stranger’s head.
The way grief works:

a mirror the chemical
that ruins the body,
a window, a small blue prayer
gone missing. [...]
02.12.19
Five Poems from Letters to the Alphabet
(I want nothing short of not being brief. It’s a peccadillo. Chickens take longer
Than they did. If I wasn’t kind today, it’s because I am feeling out of sorties like a movie
That ends before anything gets said that might resolve the question
Of why anyone would spend time making or watching a movie, or a bed. [...]
02.05.19
A Room without a Door
I was beginning to sense a pattern. Not that I knew what the pattern was, just that one was coming into view. It had something to do with the babysitter. I didn’t hire her, and refuse to be blamed. Sharon hired the babysitter; I spotted the pattern. [...]
01.29.19
Dream Duets
“I had a problem for you, and you didn’t solve it.” “It was imaginary.” “Not all that appears reappears. It may be only once that you glimpse Pythagoras.” “Did you say Pythagoras?” “Might could be, apparently so.” “Was your problem related to math?” “Of an existential dimension.” “That’s the sort that interested me before my career set in.” [...]
01.22.19
Night Philosophy
The clatter of rain has a personal meaning.
This is the time to meditate or write down your dreams.
But the lover can do neither, can only wander
From room to room trying not to spill what’s so precious. [...]
01.15.19
Wonders of the Invisible World
Outside the stars were fading and the sky was slowly rosying at the edges when we found the skeleton. At first it was visible only as a clutch of white daggers, thickly clotted with spiderwebs, compressed between the plaster wall and the heavy wooden timbers. I don’t know what I expected it to be. [...]
01.08.19
Goat
On the bus, we were told to remember everything, to testify, testify, testify. We’d heard this many times before. Remember and testify, they would say, in order that this or that bad thing does not happen again. I harbored no such faith in remembering. Nor in testimony. I fail to believe in them still. [...]
01.01.19
The Bystander by Gina Berriault
Someone shouted at me to grab a blanket or a coat or something for crissakes, the narrator of The Bystander says, and wrap your old man up, because after assaulting the woman the narrator’s father liked best, and after running out with nothing on but the soap from the bath he’d been taking with her, the narrator’s father is standing on the street, shouting imprecations at her, [...]

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In Print

Vol. 71
A Cabinet of Curiosity
Fall 2018
Edited by Bradford Morrow

Online

March 19, 2019
Do this in memory of my mother

and of my mother’s mother

Here is this lacquered box (Fig. 100.5)           inlaid

with their blood
March 12, 2019
after collapsing at the plaza fountain in Turin Nietzsche gave up
coherent speech and stayed alive somewhere else for almost twelve years
his unmapped terrain resembled a canvas painted black in successive
luminous opacities of backlit abyss, if he turned on a television
this is what he saw, if he closed his eyes, if he looked out the window
again unshielded night
March 5, 2019
For once they all agreed, it would be the concert of the season, the return of the prodigy son. The Jerusalem music scene was in heat—survivors, empty seat fillers, remnants planted on their subscriptions, but from the neck up, in brainpans that went on ticking, still the strictest standards, the highest expectations.
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The Pulitzer Prize and PEN/Faulkner Award finalist Joanna Scott reads from her work
Monday, April 1, 2019
7:00 pm – 8:00 pm
Reem-Kayden Center Laszlo Z. Bito '60 Auditorium