My Lover's Braids

My Lover's Braids

When my last lover      went, she left her long brown braids in the dresser drawer so I hung them from the      garden fence to scare the deer away.
The Oven Clock Says 4:44

The Oven Clock Says 4:44

quick listen to the tick of ittonight not quitetomorrow yet my friendthe time will comewhen end is endedthe light on the blackand white linoleumno longer shineswhen I am diedand done will finallyrhyme with goneright now resign to fight     or notwith all your mightthe...
My Lover's Braids

Kabul

I roll awake in the half moon-shaped ditch. “Where the hell are my Kools, my Canadian Mist, the ice for Godsakes, yes, even my Blackberry?” The dying light lets me see that he is still there, too, with his filthy face, his blood stained shirt, the small,...
The Right Type

The Right Type

If you stroll down Jefferson Street in Two Rivers, Wisconsin, you might pass by the Hamilton Wood Type & Printing Museum without even noticing it. Aside from a small awning printed with the museum’s name, a few large wood blocks mounted to the outer wall,...
My Lover's Braids

Focus on the Future

Living in these turbulent times, many of us seek a space where civil discussion is the status quo, a place where substantive ideas—rather than personality or political spin—are the norm rather than exception. As a statewide organization, the Wisconsin Academy has been...
Bars

Bars

It might surprise some of the readers of this magazine to learn that I have spent the night in jail. No, this wasn’t a field trip to look for ghosts on Alcatraz Island. Nor was my overnight stay part of one of those reality shows where someone is placed in an...