Cricket Hill Collection

Call me in the middle of the night as I pubesce, and ask to speak to my father, the district attorney.

I’ll record our conversation and play it when I’m alone in public places.

Let me have an absence of teeth so when I open my mouth a listener can hear our coast eroding.

Catch my fingers beneath yours. A nutria unearths my home.

Orange teeth cut from the skeleton of the old tree that invented satsumas.

Bring me with you to Japan. My father will give you a job in his office

and I’ll make you a suit brackish water cannot melt. Call it a piano and use my hands if you need them.

Serenade

Charmed Life

In The Twilight

Present

Jennifer: You shop at T.J. Maxx.

Saeeda: Yeah, but I pick everything out. And everything fits me.

Jennifer: That’s true. OK, what else?

Saeeda: Just look at those faces. Those are faces that don’t think for themselves.

Jennifer: You don’t think with your face.

Saeeda: Shut up. You know what I mean. These boys are exactly what I hate about Palestine Day. Just watch, they’re going to come over and talk to you, and your dad’s gonna start making

arrangements before you can get away. Do you have your wedding registry planned out yet?

Jennifer: Shut up! No they won’t. No one our age is getting married. That kind of thinking is so old. Like our parents.

Saeda: Our parents aren’t that old. You know why? Because they all got married as babies.

Self-Portrait

Card Player

Bored Library

Classy Kids

photographs from MEATCUTTER: Ftoni Hunter, RJ’s Counter

Untitled (Detroit)

Corso Card, letterpress print of a quote from Gregory Corso

“What are you doin’?” she asked. “Algebra,” said Vivian. “You wouldn’t understand it.” “I know math.” “Negative X plus eight equals three. What’s X?” “You said it was negative.” “But it’s a negative number. Look— see? You have to solve for X.”

Suzi squinted at the small print and recognized a minus sign, the letter X, and some numbers and symbols. “I don’t know how to do that. I’m seven.”

“I know.” “What is it?” “Five.” “I don’t get it.” “Negative five plus eight equals thr— go away, Suzi.” Vivian took a handful of Suzi’s cereal and then shooed her away.

Gray carpet clung to the stairs in intervals; some of it lifted like a bubble in a sticker. Mom kept saying she would get rid of it, but she said that about a lot of things, like the expired food in the cabinets, the clothes that didn’t even fit Suzi anymore, and the cat. Byrne was a large cat with short black fur on his entire body except for his belly, which had patches of white. It was as if he had been burned, which was why Mabel had suggested the name Burn— which Mom decided would be cooler as Byrne. He glided down the stairs, a quiet pitter patter of paws, past Suzi as she ascended.

One of my earliest memories of adventures with my father was of an unplanned outing in Florida. We were at the mercy of the snowstorms in New York and could not return there as planned. Our flight had been canceled, leaving us stranded in the Florida wilderness. We were far from hotels and restaurants, and so we were forced to camp. I remember my father and I lying face up in the back of his Ford pickup truck, our sweaty backs aching against the rough surfaces of rusted metal and melted plastic. The air was humid and salty, a mosquito's potpourri. We both stared straight up, peering at the partial beams of moon and stars that flooded gaps between the tall, slender pine trees that sheltered us from light sporadic showers. The insects feasted as we drummed away at bare sections of perspiring skin, attempting to end their siege. I can't remember if we ever slept that night, but what I do recall is how resilient I was to the discomfort of the heat and hunger, the annoyance of the weather and mosquitoes, and the pain of our sleeping arrangements. I considered the situation and realized that I could have had it much worse.

"What are you carrying?"

"Where will it go?"

"Why did it die?"

That was when I realized that I had a well of knowledge and resources most people could not imagine. I knew I had the responsibility to share what I knew with the public.