by Danielle Deulen | Jul 14, 2019 | Lit from the Basement
Unmailed Letter by Joy Harjo It’s noon. I can hardly stand it. If anything touches me, I am ashes. Your laugh, and I considered myself resurrected, but then made the correction for time and space and it still added to an irrational number. It’s elementary. You can’t...
by Danielle Deulen | Jun 30, 2019 | Lit from the Basement
Map by Bruce Snider There ought to be a fire somewhere in Indiana, not this night across the fields in Indiana. And God said let there be light, and there was light. And God said let there be corn, and there was Indiana. I kiss my love, taking his hand near the deer...
by Danielle Deulen | May 5, 2019 | Lit from the Basement
A Citizen by Don Bogen It’s true I lived in the twilight of empire, the glow at the center already muffled in rumor, the provinces indistinct, conspiratorial, alliances like sand falling through the tired fingers of diplomats while the orators held forth endlessly in...
by Danielle Deulen | Apr 28, 2019 | Lit from the Basement
Something New by Carmen Giménez Smith’s You have to want the induction of marriage with its lot of glue along with its half-death, helmets with initials carved in, persnickety daughters demanding liberal nods, half-baked urbaniacs living on Main and Third...
by Danielle Deulen | Apr 21, 2019 | Lit from the Basement
Ambition by Gary Soto For years our ambition was to eat Chicken. To sit in the back yard, In an aftershock of heat When the sun was out of the way. This happened. Drunk under a tree We became sophisticates of the lawn chair And beer bottles—trumpets we raised All...
