A poem for Friday

Ignatz Oasis
by Monica Youn

When you have left me
the sky drains of color

like the skin of a tightening fist.

The sun begins
its gold prowl

swatting at tinsel streamers
on the electric fan.

Crouching I hide
in the coolness I had stolen

from the brass rods of your bed.


Ooh, I like it.

For more, visit Guerinca.

Links and more links

Just links today; still trying to play catch up with life!

Great observations on the writing life here. (via Maud Newton)

News on the Pulitzer Prizes here. Awesome that Bob Dylan and Robert Hass are both winners. Junot Diaz won for fiction. Has anyone read Diaz? Comments?

World Literature Forum -- check it out.