This Dimming Light Between Us

The days, you keep tying them to hooks on the ceiling. Clay ornaments on strings knocking together like wind chimes in a summer storm or the eerie jingle of the Good Humor truck driving by. Somehow both immediate and fleeting. They make the most delicate clamor The noise sends me out of the house late at …

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Migration

When I wake, I am lying in a field stretched taut over a hill. The knife in my hand gleams in the still-blinking dawn, and I see the patch I've cleared in the switchgrass—a circle on one end, two prongs on the other. Its shape reminds me of you. The fire is slow to rekindle, but it is rare …

The Aerialists

It's easy to idolize the women floating above you. The footlights set their sequins on fire; the music spins them between gasps and cables. You appreciate the simplicity, the reliance on ribbons, the swinging on silks. Their work is to be upside down, arms extended, hanging by an ankle to please strangers, and you blush to …