If Grief Had a Color
I wouldn’t tell you it’s copper. I’d send you back up to the jukebox in our mojito summer..
In My Hometown, There’s No Station
By Renee Agatep ‘cause the trains don’t carry people. You can visit by scanning the footnotes of a discarded Auto Trader. The centerfold will introduce the townspeople, a chain of white paper dolls holding unremarkable hands. There are other ways. Chew the label off a can of chewing tobacco or look in the cracks of…
On to Stockton, 1930
“Did you see the news?” “No, doesn’t matter.” Irena shrugged. “Which is it? Did you see it, or it doesn’t matter?”
The Keepsake
What was to become of my mother’s things? I couldn’t ask myself those questions now, only pack, box, tape, stack.
Headland
I used to find your face, 23 on every beach in Jacksonville
Recreating Mother in an Ohio Strip Club Parking Lot
If I could feel nothing but the sequins, every edge scalloped along elastic, I would know everything
Hang Your Daughter’s Clothes on a Line
my girl, when you grow
The Queen of England Gives Birth
to every English person like a bee
The Original of Vera
Deep in the heart of Appalachia, Harvey completed Vera. He recognized his beloved’s precise countenance, her light, his own eye beyond the easel looking on from a doorway.
All I Know About Sin is Robin Egg Blue
two gentle orbs / nestled in a fallen thatched bowl
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Renee Agatep 