Perpetual Los Angeles, perpetual candy from a stranger.
This is Uncle Wiggily inching toward an exit—any exit.
He’s maximum hydration, a big flowered tent,
ending in an overheated man’s fantasy.
I would pad-pad through picnics for you.
Look, we all have...
Poetry
Beautiful fat pants, today is our day.
No pretending to read I, Seamus Heaney,
no Skyping with pretendfriend.com.
Beautiful fat pants, beautiful fat pants.
Beautiful fat pants, you remember me.
The reruns of Moesha, the noodle soups,
the new poetry of...
Anne Carson, author of approximately sixteen books of poetry, essays, and translation (the precise number depends on how you count her several collaborations), is to a certain segment of the population a major celebrity. Originally from Canada...
Three years ago I moved to a new neighbourhood in Toronto. I’m still here, making this the longest interval I have ever lived anywhere as an adult, and resulting in a novel circumstance: I have neighbours I know by name, whom I am regularly obliged...
As every control freak knows, making lists and then crossing things off them is one of life’s great pleasures. I am the sort of person who makes a lot of lists, usually the “to-do” kind, on little scraps of paper. Thanks to an epic job search that...
My dad is a mountain man. Plaid outfits, skillet collection, an immunity to the smell of kerosene, idiosyncratic politics, and a wild, wiry black dog so unaccustomed to being walked on a leash that she chokes herself against the collar if you try. He...
Man to man.
If only I knew more about the human heart,
I could fuel its fire or stamp it out
completely. If only I knew more
about songbirds, I could tell you
exactly what is singing there unseen
in that tree across the street – that song
has been...
A friend of mine, Kate, has spent most of the past year striving to be “clothing neutral.” In practice, this meant that Kate wore more or less the same outfit every single day: A zip-up wool sweater layered over a green cotton “Sustainable Resource...
Born to parents who would sleep with their heads outside the screen door, raccoons be damned, at the first sign of temperatures in the mid-twenties, I am not a person who deals especially well with the heat. Exacerbating matters, due to my tight...
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