Our love is the night sky –
the way it looks like cotton
stretched over a bruise. Read More »
Born in 1939 in Maryland, John Fahey pioneered the use of traditional country and blues finger picking to showcase the acoustic steel string guitar as a solo instrument that could play a mix of traditional and non-traditional musical genres. He collaged ideas associated with Bartok, Charles Ives, Indian and Gamelan Read More »
The iron treadles rock and doven
in the flatiron shadows, pressed air and piece work.
Hungry hands move like birds.
Every week the girl who makes the least gets fired. Read More »
And then, hooked up to tubes and oxygen,
She was screaming, catch me Joey, I’m falling!
I picked her up, the heft and weight
Of rabbit bones wrapped in silk,
I’ve got you Rose I’ve got you. Read More »
Samantha set her alarm clock for 5 a.m. every day of the week—including weekends. She had the volume set on two and kept it on her side of the bed not to wake her husband Gene. The soft sound of her alarm lifted her up with out a moment of lag time. She reached over to turn off the alarm carefully, not
Verity. She appeared before us in the City Weekly newspaper, wrapped in swaddling cloths and lying in a bathtub, a child and yet a mummy—swaddled in soggy printers ink one wet September day like the day when the world came to know the name of heroin. The coffee was brewing. Brigham and I agreed wordlessly,
The basket weave butter cream frosting was exactly what Amanda had asked for, as were the piles of roses and butterflies that made the cake look more like a floral arrangement than something edible.
But the color was all wrong. Read More »
A glorious, buttery-warm light lit the summer of 1966. This was the summer that surpassed all remembered summers. They started to call themselves The Quartet as school let out. Mary, Colleen, Helen, and Anne were secretly teasing their brothers, Read More »
Two Hawks Quarterly 
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