Rita Dove was born in Akron, Ohio in 1952. A 1970 Presidential Scholar, she attended Miami University of Ohio, Universität Tübingen in Germany and the University of Iowa. In 1987 she received the Pulitzer Prize in poetry, and from 1993-1995 she served as U.S. Poet Laureate. Author of a novel,
Matt thought the air smelled something like Vietnam—it hung around his neck in thick, heavy ropes, choked with smoke and hot breath and what could’ve been gunpowder but was probably just firecrackers, he reminded himself. Ahead of him, Johnson snaked through the dancers, winding his body into the spaces
All the people of the village were gathered before the sacred column, awaiting the priest with fear and zealous awe. They stood in anxious silence, listening to the tattoo of the drums roll out from behind the pillar of smoke with steadily rising intensity. Men craned forward, eager to see
Bookstore Suspended I will watch her go. Her phone in one ear, her finger in the other. My eyeballs bobbing above the bookshelf. A copy of Benjamin’s Illuminations in my hands. I will watch her go. And when I try to remember how it happened—minutes from now, a month,
“The straight line (road, frontier, grid, linear history and narrative, monologue) is disrupted by the trope of crossing (dialogue, diaspora, rhizome, the fold).” —Neil Campbell, The Rhizomatic West 9/8/20 8:53 am MDT Wind Speed E 15 G 25 mph Barometer 30.29 in (1025.8 mb) Dewpoint 18°F (-8°C) Visibility 0.75 mi
Tucked away in the La Latina neighborhood of Madrid, a small restaurant serves only mushrooms, served in a multiplicity of ways. Late one winter evening, my husband and I, married less than a year then, hovered outside the door, waiting for one of the few tables to empty, for our
Sometimes, late at night, when my body is restless, I leave my dorm building in the dark to go for a walk. I try not to walk far. When I have manic days that end in my eyes carving designs into the ceiling as my fingernails draw blood from my
We wanted fish to bite our hooks. Only the fish. We did not want mammals, amphibians, marsupials, reptiles, or poultry of any sort to latch onto our fishing lines. If you had asked us why, we might have said, ‘Well, that’s why it’s called fishing.’ and we would have been
I am like a small creature swallowed whole by a monster, she thought, and the monster feels my tiny little movements inside. – Shirley Jackson, The Haunting of Hill House I do not feel safe in my own home. Not for any really valid or sensible reason. I mean,
