A Southern African-American poet has just published a work of radical literary integration. It storms the last bastion of dead-white-guy literature, the “whites only”
Her family jostled and congealed in fertile suburbs−a place on a map embroidered with mirrors. Plenty of gazes on the soles of their feet.
Tel: archeological site. Layers of fragile bits that nonetheless survive, and there is always, most revealingly for information about daily life, a midden. I
A man warns me not to drink standing water in the garage. He is imaginary, a result of the nights I keep watch after