I snap the twig to try to trap the springing and I relearn the same lesson. You cannot make a keepsake of this season. Your heart’s not the source of that sort of sap, lacks what it takes to fuel, ...

We're not very creative but not adverse to rote-learning. Indeed, they can use us. But the “Model Minority” is a tease.

and saloons are filled with decent humans. A mother wants to feed her daughter, fathers to buy their children things that break. People laugh, all over the world, people laugh. We were born to laugh, ...

I die of thirst beside the fountain I'm hot as fire, I'm shaking tooth on tooth In my own country I'm in a distant land Beside the blaze I'm shivering in flames Naked as a worm, dressed like a ...

To what purpose, April, do you return again? Beauty is not enough. You can no longer quiet me with the redness Of little leaves opening stickily. I know what I know. The sun is hot on my neck as I ...

Red slippers in a shop-window; and outside in the street, flaws of gray, windy sleet! Behind the polished glass the slippers hang in long threads of red, festooning from the ceiling like stalactites ...

And to think I had just paid a cousin twenty dollars to shovel the walk. He and two of his buddies, still smelling of an all-nighter, arrived at 7 am to begin their work. When I left them a while ...

Kathleen Ossip is the author of The Do-Over (Sarabande Books, 2015). She teaches at The New School and lives in Hastings-on-Hudson, New York.