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Ma didn’t believe in slapping. It was what common people did.

Sing so dogs bark, oxen bolt. Sing so a girl walks out on her lover.

What’s a man supposed to do when his best friend is a falcon?

Flies at our dinner—Won’t eat much sings the tiny ghost of my mother.

Little footage, this plot, where it thrived at first, then ghosted away.

We’d hit something in the dark which—bang!—was there and gone.

In the backyard I submerge myself in a bathtub of soil, soak with the hose.

Owen’s head throbbed, his ears ached, and an anvil sat on his chest.

I crouched just like my mother burying nail clippings to ward off curses.

This is the woman who had shrunk so small, nobody could find her.

Grasshoppers tumble from the reeds, snapping like electricity.

Bees kill wasps by gathering around and tightening in the middle.

She’d seen snakes before, but she’d never really looked at one, until now.

Where my mom was wasn’t never far from the Myrtle Beach Days Inn.

The moon it is red, and the stars are fled but all the sky is a-burning.

I could go in for some pie why the hell not, there’s so little time.

You’re standing too close to a lit house which could be yours—is it yours?

“Who is it?” Irina asked at the door. “Open up,” a voice commanded.

David Lee

Men are so delicate, must be given many portals. I try to be game.

A goddess was offended; her altar required my virgin blood.

The first skeleton drawn from the earth, they called beautiful.

You linger in the dimming aftermath, grayer and fainter than a breath.

All the bears in the zoo look pathetic. Their eyes glazed, bodies lethargic.

Beyond her ampleness, he stands a small man vanquished.

Arriving on earth’s paradise, wearing only light for their bodies.

My soul is simple; it doesn’t think. Something strange paces there now.

Wet air. Big windsound in the leaves—a kind of prayer, maybe.