Sarah Gambito is the author of Matadora (Alice James Books, 2004), and Delivered (Persea Books, 2009). She holds degrees from The University of Virginia (B.A.) and Brown University (M.F.A.). Her poems have appeared in The Iowa Review, The Antioch Review, The New Republic, Quarterly West, Fence, and other journals, and in 2008, she received, with Russell Banks and Robert Caro, the Barnes & Noble Writers for […]
I dreamed my mother collapsed inside of me and nothing else was true. I was still and I cupped my heart’s stream into my heart’s mouth and I could do nothing. This is to say I was a child. Casting nets of silver so you feel the feeling of this is my job: the […]
Cushioning up to what she really wants. I took my earring out. Had dinner with New York. Spent the night with New York. I mean. It helps to see my body, my orthotricyclin. Grinning and standing by the cake. All while I am trying on my butterfly kite. I’ve made myself smaller […]
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Across the street a beautiful asian was burning. I took my sandals off. Seven times hotter the fire remembered babies. And canals of babies burning it back. I took off your sandals, and your sandals, too. Sometimes we waited for stone tablets. Most often we brewed what tea we could of the desert. Silicate, mica, […]
Children lift tiles from the bathroom. I employ them. I give one a machete. I give the other a borrowed life. Together we cut cane on the Asian-American mollusk. Of my fury, I make Cheeto-straight-A’s. Of my fury, I come like a joint popping into place. Of my fury, I give you […]
