Almost fifteen years ago, Lane bought a lake resort with her sister, Elsa. It was a wild thing to do. It was the sort of thing you did when the world was blaring around you, when everything seemed too real and impossible anyway and danger was familiar enough that you were tired of being afraid of it. Maybe some people would do drugs or cut off all their hair or go out dancing and bring home a stranger.
A Red, Red Rose
When you shiver in heels, there is always the chance that you will fall in a hurry. I would like to learn the trick to not turning to confetti when dressed up. Until that time, which will no doubt be never, I will stick with these extremely unprovocative crêpe-soled shoes designed to prevent romantic encounters; they work, essentially, like helmets for the entire body (and soul, whatever that is).
On Birds, Women and Fire
The goldfinch needs fire,
the cold slip of her flicks past
as soundless as a thought
lost to a question. But you,
you need water.
I had lived all my life in the city but never paid much attention to the river. I always thought Coovum was the Tamil word for sewer, until I met him. The fetid, repulsive stench was all that came to my mind at the mention of the river. But, his face lit up every time he spoke about the Coovum river; how it carved its way through the crammed city and
We’re working hard to finish up the summer issue of NWW. Starting now we have several new pieces online, with more to come.