No Poem Is the Only Poem. No Story Is the Only Story. No Kings.
The river warden stood submerged up to his waist in the mid-stream, where the braiding sinews of a syrupy undercurrent had relaxed to create a skewed ellipse of near-motionless water. After many years on the river he found that he could easily spot these dead zones within the slowly-circulating continuity that eased itself interminably between the banks.
The only Asian hobo in Vicetown sits cross-legged on the street corner with a Jesus figurine for company. Emblem of patience, thin hair telling you the direction of the wind, bare feet black as soot. Nothing underneath his unbuttoned linen shirt, back rounded like a curled-up centipede. A red rubber band collects his beard like a bouquet of flowers.
Marina: I saw history the day I decided to go back to Virginia. I came out of the farmacia, where some women in their black hose, long-sleeved dresses, and scarves, like my mother-in-law, circled around its door and talked only to each other. Once through the small crowd, I looked down Grand across the river to New York; its spikes snagged the clouds. I told myself, Marina, it’s time to go, the war’s on.
The scents of September: ripe blackberries, garden fires, whiteboard marker pens. The start of the school year used to be thrilling, back when Fiona McNeel was a special girl full of promise sitting up front asking clever questions. Now she’d be the one fielding the clever questions, and looking silly if she couldn’t answer them. But how clever could they be, her new students? No more than fifteen in each section (they boasted about class size in the Barrow School brochures) twelve and thirteen year olds, eager to learn and easy to mold. And the classroom was not a bad place to work, a large, airy room with big windows overlooking maple trees and playing fields.
Deadlines Extended
Take surveys, determine eligibility,
The orders come and are tiring,
The means-tested world is mean
As the rusty gate to the Municipal Office opened with a squeak, Agha hobbled in. His arthritic joints protested each step, but he trudged forward.