Archives for the month of: November, 2013

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To read this piece, see Five Points: A Journal of Literature & Art, Vol. 17 Number 3.

Both of you in snowsuits, how your arms stuck out from your sides. Like kites about to go airborne, cheeks red with winter, small noses running. That you are now grown women with children of your own I do not deny, but this present reality does not erase the pictures in my head, an involuntary archive of I remember you when, plus a frantic picnic of other imagery that no longer attaches to facts. I am the older sister. I carry you as a history within histories, and as your sole witness I can tell you that your mittens are still dripping.

To read this story, see it in Conduit 27, Summer 2016.

Come on, his canvases look like they were painted with a fish, she said, aware that the conversation around them had died at exactly the right moment. So she added, A fat fish that spawns in freshwater and is often mistaken for a herring.

Now we know all about you from the neck up. Plus your taste in hats.

She estimated the effect of her bonnet and ribbons. Her ribbons. While stepping neatly in the wheel furrow. Breezes picked each color off her back. Trailing tractor beams of signals among the willows. Signals among the willows. The left wheel furrow. Placing each foot directly in front of the other.  Trailing tractor beams. She may also have been singing. To herself.

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