My People
My People by Jim Clinton Who are your people, she asked, when she heard that I too am from Arkansas. Who are my people? My people came in through New Orleans, one up from steerage, through New York and...
View ArticleNot in Matter
I have abstained from grieving these past few days. Now the rain approaches like a slow train bearing summer in its carriage. Now the murmurs roil against me and I am rendered invisible as servants in...
View ArticleThe Silver Beatle Variations
by James Harmon Clinton I. Billboard magazine shuffled with Escapade and True, higher education commences. The fall of ’63, a band is smashing its way around the world. Germany has fallen, Sweden and...
View ArticleA Cut Flower
She lived alone in Spanishtown, next door to the dealer who woke her every morning with a fresh spoon. She spent months tiding in a cool frenzy, then all her fears came slurping through when the taxi...
View ArticleHealing the King
by James Harmon Clinton Some wild morning when love’s debris no longer intrudes like the ghost of a severed arm, when the upstairs bedroom window admits gold freshets of light and the flirting chance...
View ArticleAmplitude Modulation
I thought I was lucky for a long time. The radio played sweetly in my ear. I rose to the notion of the sublime offer of country music’s riven rhyme. At a station on AM’s last frontier, I thought I was...
View ArticleOne Mind Common
And did the summer morning die? I think of it in the past tense, the sun shuttered and suffocated, reduced to filtered shades and late. That was end and beginning, fateful tryptich–one: the giving in;...
View ArticleAir Travel Begets Misanthropy
by James Harmon Clinton Edward praises white heat, the unapproachable sublime, and Lucinda raises an inflected map of the South, directs it all from above. Elvis at the Overton Shell, the Beatles at...
View ArticleHistoric Restaurant to Be Demolished
Jayne writes that the Log Cabin will be razed, but I am less affected than she would think. There is, I suppose, some slight sentimental attachment to the worn green plastic booths, to dim neural...
View ArticleAir Travel Begets Misanthropy
by James Harmon Clinton Edward praises white heat, the unapproachable sublime, and Lucinda raises an inflected map of the South, directs it all from above. Elvis at the Overton Shell, the Beatles at...
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