PACIFIC NORTHWEST
A Round for the Muses
To draw, you must close your eyes, Picasso said, and sing, and our composers must open them and hear new colors, and our dancing playwrights must see and taste the music of storytellers and gather shapes and shadows to be …
Mid-summer Forecast
Wind dashed from my palm a flock of mica— scone-crumbly, water-colored glass. My handful of angles flashed up like a foam of sandpipers off the ocean’s tongue. If I could believe like a child or crone, I would have known …
Alala
The crows on my walk build nets from roof top to tree top in threads of communication, each juncture a rook– Kaww Kaww–of the arrival and departure of my comings and goings. They know my hair top, my face, my …
The Dream about White Salmon
What’s in White Salmon? she asks from the dream. I thought she meant a fish, not slivered in pink but an albino aborigine, blank eyes communal and naked. The dreamfish camouflaged, moored in the stream’s float and swaddle. Water carves …
Dad’s Home
On a summer evening I’m ten, my dad is just home from work, sitting in his truck, engine off and radio on, listening to the last crackles of “Southern Man,” which spins my mother in frenzies with its crazy guitar …
Le Rayon Vert
Look here, a mere inch stripe of fire orange sunset holding its own under a bumpy blue curtain socked between the great-dome sky and the puny line of city buildings beyond the window sill. I am content with that slender …
