Blame It on the Heat
Some unusual cosmic energy in the summer months makes writers forget who they are.
The summer doesn't steal your writing. It asks you to write differently. An essay on heat, the senses, and the work that only burning makes possible.
Geography of No Language
A young Serbian poet lands in Seattle, her heeled boots striking a puddled street. The air smells of salt and asphalt. The language hums around her like electrical wiring.
She believes she knows English.