In this desert dust
my hands touch
her hands
dust to dust
stone charred
supper over
jawbone lifted
rabbit to bone
bone beneath stone
bone to bone
More from Issue #1
Distances by Carol Hamilton
The moon is moving away from us, hitching itself ever higher by its own tuggings at our gravity. It is paling out, like your face, but so gradually, I think you are…
Passover Hat by Carol Hamilton
We, thoughtless, had an Easter Parade, the principal a tall, mercurial Irishman, Judy Garland and fashion all playing their part, paper plates, construction paper, paste making up the rest. There in the…
Materialism by Carol Hamilton
The things around them turned Dutch painters greedy for light, which could not have come so often, for I, too, lived edged by the North Sea and saw little enough of it.…
Family History by Carol Hamilton
One son tells of when his baby brother turned blue, and he and elder sister say the epoch of our hell is gone, never happened to them. But the youngest, the one…