I pass the feeder and yell, Grackle party! And then an hour later I yell, Mourning dove afterparty! (I call the feeder the party and the seed on the ground the afterparty.) I am getting so good at watching that...
You’ve never seen a lilac in Mississippi. Backstage you wear lotion laced with its chemical imitation. A ballet mistress says relevé always as command: lift onto the toe using only the heel. Your ankle’s bewilderment old as the horned owl gaze from your mother hunched in the...