In the beginning was the fragment, and the fragment cast a shadow, and the shadow became the word. — Carlos V. Reye, from “Histories,” in “Fragments on Fragments 1,” FragLit (no. 1, Fall 2007)
All I have never been troubles the night. — Phyllis Hoge Thompson, “Do Not Tell Me That in Another Life You Will Leave Notes for Me Everywhere So That Next Time We Can Find Each Other,” The Hudson Review. Spring 2007.
Nights like this I dream I am lightning, or a cigarette lit too long, my body a lighthouse, beacon made of bone. — Katie Vagnino, from “The Storm,” Words Apart, Issue 4 (April 30, 2015)
And soon it’s not just that, but this, this something else, this sticking of gears, this mile of pulled stitches that ravels out of my ear, this tear that comes from nowhere, this fritz, this hitch, this itch that won’t quit, that begets the grains of something like regret and sows them everywhere. — Claire… Continue reading Claire Wahmanholm
But to write is to dignify memory — Allan Peterson, from “Footnotes,” Mississippi Review (vol. 41, no. 3, Winter 2014)
My body wants for the first love, administered only in increments I am capable of, or I can conjure. — Catherine Pond, from “Mithridatism,” Memorious 24, June 2015.
And since someone is always bound to bring up sorrow, today it is faithfully represented by a wren on the yellowed lawn, its one eye the color of a galvanized nail. — Christopher Buckley, from “Guess Work,” Five Points (vol. 12, no. 2, Fall 2008)