They ran barefoot in the summertime in packs like stray dogs, ragged and dirty, and there were leaders and followers. Each fell into place warrior and peacemaker, alike, the way that young women do when left good and alone. They hunted, too, though, if asked, they couldn't tell you just what. No, it was in the motions; the movement was what mattered, especially … Continue reading Xenomancy


  The place smelled like rust, from pipes overhead. It was hell when you got that scent up your nose, when the smell settled in your mouth. There were no locks on the door, so anyone could enter, all. Old paper boxes, clumped newspaper grew mildew and something else, something noisome that clung to our hair … Continue reading Katabasis


There’s a metallic buzz under the nighttime sound, the sundown hum— the scratchy beating of wings, like cross-legged sitting, singing into whirling metal blades. It’s a static voice, an electric device pressed hard against a wounded, smokey throat to crackle thoughts. I shoo it from my ears like flies when it draws too near, when I am … Continue reading Temenos

Goddess of Open Mouths

  "I dig because I am hungry" – Margaret Atwood, from Digging (Selected Poems, 1965 – 1975) I was nineteen when I first saw the ocean. My fingers locked with my lover’s that night, and the wet grate of sand on my feet was a new satisfaction. She was nervous. I held her hand, felt her thumb rub … Continue reading Goddess of Open Mouths

In the Fields, Growing Green

Take the biting creatures netted from the brackish water in the bay and carry them, still writhing, to the empty fields where they’ll rot in the Sun. Let them feed the earth if it’s hungry, and what's beneath (if it's hungry), and come again at daybreak to gather-up the bones. Smell the edges of decay through … Continue reading In the Fields, Growing Green