Last night I heard a long ripping sound but didn’t realize that a plant was uprooting, preparing to relocate. At dawn I saw my blue mammoth creep across the yard with huge paddle leaves working the air. I ran out to grab it and return it to its plot, but it shrugged me off with […]

In the month of steeplebush a few years after Frost’s death I’m browsing his Ripton cabin. A sibilance flows through it, rustling the yellowed pages of Modern Library books scattered like country gravestones. When I lie on his smooth old daybed with its blue cotton coverlet I see myself white and wrinkled in landscapes smutty […]