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Café Sport is another scene. A scene, because that is where the artists and intellectuals go to be seen. Taking part is what matters, not winning. It is like sport, which is where the café got its…
What I like about Catholic Heaven (I’d say Christian Heaven, but I’m afraid of making a mistake; I know very little about Evangelicals and Seventh Day Adventists) is that it has well-defined limits…
In her death agony—which lasted no more than an instant or two—Nazira Mualdeb reviewed the months preceding her granddaughter Alcira’s wedding and a torrent of ghostly images spontaneously abandoned…
Meanwhile Joy was telling me things about her life that I’d never known as a single-minded kid searching the neighborhood for a grape to burst—Joy was tossing into this agitated pot of memory called…
Many years later, in London, Father was once again revealed to me in that long-ago evening in Ramat Poriya, sitting on the fence with the Kinnereth lying like a carcass behind him, but this time the…
What is this sound of tumult that I hear—
Roaring of the sea, not burbling of the brook
Like the roar of a lion or a tiger?
I am in great danger and do not know
If my time approaches when I must…
What if Miriam were remembered just as a person rescuing her brother Moses rather than as the heroine responsible for saving the man who would redeem the Jewish people from bondage?
Fish bones walked the waves off Hatteras.
And there were other signs
That Death wooed us, by water, wooed us
By land: among the pines
An uncurled cottonmouth that rolled on moss
Reared in the…
the poem is ugly & they make it uglier
wherein the power resides
that duncan did—or didn’t—understand
when listening that evening to the other poet read
he said “that was pure ugliness” & oh it was
i…
The back, the yoke, the yardage. Lapped seams,
The nearly invisible stitches along the collar
Turned in a sweatshop by Koreans or Malaysians
Gossiping over tea and noodles on their break
Or talking…