CNF

35 Variations

1. Alphabetically: AA B C D EEEEE F H J NN OOO RR SS T U W Y 2. Anagram: O, we seafarers enjoy techno dub. 3. Lipogram in d, g, i, k, l, m, p, q, v, x, z: We can bed heroes, just for one day. 4. Lipogram in a: We might be heroes, just for one sunrise. 5. Lipogram in...

Vancouver Island (1990s Give & Take)

When I am nineteen, you let me go. Until then, you keep me in your rocky shores. I explore your roads on foot, on hitch-hiked rides with strangers, on bikes found in back alleys. You give me G and G gives me a plate he makes in pottery class with his beach-tanned...

Lucky Little Girl

Is six a confusing time for everyone? I look at my children and think not. They may no longer like trains or construction vehicles but they go to sleep around the same time every night. Their friends range in age from 5-7. Not a single friend in their twenties or...

On Not Drinking for Dorothy Parker

Most people remember Dorothy Parker for “Men seldom make passes at girls who wear glasses.”     One of the lines that I remember her by is “All those writers who write about their childhood…if I wrote about mine you wouldn't sit in the same room...

Stupid Girls

ONE. To collect our lost things, Forest drove us along the railway—the rain slowed, the lake calmed—and while Forest drove, he flirted, and teased us for not being stupid girls, and still that’s what I remember most, not the portages that hadn’t been cleared of...

Sister Copper Hair

I. My sister tells me that if I stare too long at the clothes whirling around in the washer I will get cancer.A. It takes a while for me to figure out this is a lie. For years, I will glance at the washer’s soapy porthole and quickly look away.B. As we grow older, I...

Tree Dreams of Becoming a Mast

Pieces of that day, together with phrases or words from a novel or a poem I remember, still snag within me, meshing, blending, trying to turn what we did in that last hour into something greater than it was. As if the work somehow made small legends of us in some way...

One Away From Enough

When the cotton candy colored sky spins out shadows that land in the hungry crevices of old brick that line these cobblestone streets, I begin to wonder what my brother had eaten that day. Perhaps beef stroganoff, his favorite? Probably not. A paper cup of chocolate...

Aspects of Poetry

My friend’s mother talked on the phone for hours, pacing the kitchen, smoking cigarette after cigarette, pausing and frowning in dramatic caesuras, then replying in a burst of diatribe or praise. She’d hush us—vamoose, I’m talking—and then, after a brief apology,...

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