Local Boys and Girls Small Town Stuff Marsden Hartley A panther sprang at the feet Of the young deer in the gray wood.  It was the lady who had sworn To love him, That rose, wraithlike From the flow of his blood. He swooned with her devotions. There was never one  More jolly and boyish Than he was, in the great beginning. Once his slippers were fastened With domesticity, He settled down Like a worn jaguar Weary with staring through bars. The caresses that were poured Over his person Staled on him.  Love had grown rancid. Have you emptied the garbage [...]

Prompt for the Week: 5/25/20 “You know who I imagine? The narrator. I imagine the narrator as an actual reader, reading what I’ve written and commenting to me about the voice and point of view,” writes Lorrie Moore in a New Yorker interview by Deborah Treisman, about the reader she imagines when writing. “You have to be true to your narrator. The narrator is the supreme reader. And narrators may quibble with the narration you’ve created for them.” Write a new version of an old story, or perhaps one you never finished, while imagining that the narrator has objections about how they [...]

Prompt for the Week: 5/18/20 “However it is encountered, beauty is always an exception, always in despite of. This is why it moves us,” writes John Berger in “The White Bird,” his 1985 essay on aesthetics. Write a personal essay that examines a moment or particular object that you found beautiful during a difficult time in your life. What was this beauty in despite of? Describe the physical and emotional environment that surrounded this object or incident. How did this beauty change your perspective on your situation or on what was going on in the wider world?" (from Poets&Writers)

The Birds Outside My Window Sing During a Pandemic Lee Herrick What we need has always been inside of us. For some—a few poets or farmers, perhaps— it’s always near the surface. Others, it’s buried. It was in our original design, though—pre-machine, pre-border, pre-pandemic. I imagine it like the light one might feel through the body before dying, a warm calm, a slow breath, a sweet rush. There is, by every measure, reason for fear, concern, a concert in the balcony of anxiety made of what has also always been inside of us: a kind of knowing that everything could break. [...]

Prompt for the Week: 5/11/20 Write in detail about a garden or natural space you remember from your childhood. (from the Brooklyn Writers Collective)

The Mothering Blackness BY MAYA ANGELOU She came home running        back to the mothering blackness        deep in the smothering blackness white tears icicle gold plains of her face        She came home running She came down creeping        here to the black arms waiting        now to the warm heart waiting rime of alien dreams befrosts her rich brown face        She came down creeping She came home blameless        black yet as Hagar’s daughter        tall as was Sheba’s daughter threats of northern winds die on the desert’s face        She came home blameless