Steadying the thick red marker against the white board, you wrote ostranenie then finished the word with a period. Your hand was simultaneously a thin branch in strong wind and a hungry mongoose dancing a snake to death. The letters run so quickly out of the word. I am also you here, asking how new … Continue reading Lesson
by John A. Nieves
It’s still gnat light over the porch steps. The creak near the front of the board you’d stand on and draw in night had gone out, had left its voice in the just-spring sounds, in the not-yet-violent warmings. I almost see the way you’d turn when I tapped the glass. I almost hear you call … Continue reading April
by John A. Nieves
I remember not being able to remember this rock. I used to stand six feet above it and never see the striated gray, the channels cut by ice so recently run to sea. As a boy, I’d sprint and slide dangerously close to the edge, to the rumbling breakers and bobbing blades. Now I get … Continue reading Recessional (Albus)
by John A. Nieves
