Priscilla Becker’s book of poems, Internal West, won The Paris Review Prize and was published by Zoo Press in 2003. Her poems have appeared in Fence, Open City, The Paris Review, Small Spiral Notebook, Boston Review, Raritan, American Poetry Review, Verse, and The Swallow Anthology of New American Poets; her music reviews in The Nation and Filter magazine. her book reviews inThe […]
Your rule has made an August of October and I am lazy in my domicile as maple leaves turn half yellow and forget the ailing spectrum. This season there are many kings; I’ve made a shrine to orange things, a coterie of me and three domestic- leaning cats whose naps fulfill a mossy genuflection […]
I think last summer you said the word in almost life-long drawn-out time, perfected the gesture with your hand you’d started prehistorically that snapped me back, as though we had agreed. And all the times that I was high, not the exceptions they seemed to be but regular rhythms, etherized. Perhaps I should […]
When I got your note, the little exploded plant fibers inside, in the muted camouflage of the vegetable kingdom and the smell of the swamp, but also of your Chanel face powder that you sold your employer’s books on the side for a month to buy, the yellowed blotches on the paper and the brown […]
Not that the hair is blond, but that it is not brown. My mistake. Not even once to settle curiosity, or hiding on the legs beneath my clothes. The same way a violet is not really blue and so can live in two fields at once. Or more. Now I think I […]
Snow would be the right weather for today. Whiteness indicating things that don’t exist. And a numbness and a blanketing to recollect mother Its second stage is frozenness, and though I long for its touch across my face, its coldness settling, what seems to happen quicker than it should is the snow’s paralysis. How […]