My brother and I dug for worms, our knees furrowing the farmer’s dirt, our nails blackened by its bounty. And where we
browsing archive: featuredwriting
in memory of John Beecher 1953, westbound from Boston on the Lake Shore Limited, steel whining on steel through Berkshire pines,
with passion, several coquís sing, though its already past dawn meanwhile the cat considers her every step, and taking them, you can’t
Whale Shark Spots are like human fingerprints, and the plankton whorl in our palms while your mouth sieves the sea. Our backs
Tongue-Lick of Flame It’s been a hard summer, one long exhalation into the pout of heat, the backhand of drought owing its
Sevenfold Goodbye 1 Ponca We left sea level this morning, headed north on a highway gradually climbing. Now, on the brink of
Henry David was chopping firewood by the pond when a stranger approached. The man wore a broadcloth jacket and trousers and
Alex Checkovich is an instructor of “the body in space” at the University of Richmond, where he teaches freshmen seminars called “Nature-,”
Natural ice is a magnet, dull-gray and powerful. It calls to me, an amateur ice enthusiast and a recreational ice skater. I
Nadya’s arms had tingled exactly this way once before. She’d been nine the day the leaves of the tree outside their box