Video: The Moon’s Milk
Narrated by Tom Waits, the film chronicles the last expedition of Captain Millipede and his crew to harvest the milk seeping from the moon’s craters. (13 minutes)
Michael Simms: The end of civilization as we know it
I want to apologize for walking in
When the dog was licking
Your bald head as you lay
On the couch drinking rum
Straight from the bottle…
Sydney Lea: Passing the Arts and Crafts Fair
There aren’t many like him anymore, the handy, soft-spoken old ones, who still know how to farm, how to raise up a house you can live in, how to still-hunt a whitetail.
Louie Skipper: The Beginning
I keep trying to persuade my father
into a better opinion of me now that he is dead.
Leslie McGrath: The Death of Dogs
In the middle of the night when he thinks
I’m asleep, Bill will weep without sound
shaking the bed like a curse at God
Chris Hedges: The Miracle of Kindness
Take a brief journey through the eyes of American Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist Chris Hedges to Jerusalem, Gaza, and Iraq, and discover the sacred bonds that make us human.
Mike James: Player Piano
Every song is like mice walking slowly across tin.
Sally Bliumis-Dunn: Quahogue
I knocked
and you showed me the letter
from your father who left when you were five.
Stephen Dobyns: Stories
All stories, as they reach their end, are sad.
The rain comes; the night falls; Malone dies alone.
Joan E. Bauer: Brilliant Modernist, Armored Life
Afraid of heights, she stood on ledges.
To onlookers, she’d say:
Buddy, I’m not a nice girl. I’m a photographer.
I go anywhere.
Robert Frost: Storm Fear
I count our strength,
Two and a child,
Those of us not asleep subdued to mark
How the cold creeps as the fire dies at length…
Sandy Solomon: On “Adlestrop”
“Adlestrop” is a poem which, though written in a time of war, takes place during that last, long, beautiful Edwardian summer. The speaker is describing a prewar train journey in full consciousness of the disruption that is soon to follow.
Majid Naficy: I Have Become a Resting Place
And my mother, who at her death
Called out to her sister Ozra,
Has not yet let go of
My own sister’s hand.
Ellen Foos: Support-Group Puppets
We speak in circles,
Sock-monkeys one and all,
able to say what we are told.
