Jo McDougall: This Morning
A woman laughs
and my daughter steps out of the radio.
Grief spreads in my throat like strep.
Jo McDougall: What We Need
Lola the Lion Tamer and the Great Valdini
in Nikes and jeans
sharing a tired cigarette
Jo McDougall: Advice to the Next of Kin
Sweep away the phone call, the image of the crash. Make a mantle of green snakeskin, the eye of an owl, an oriole wing. Slip that over your shoulders. Spit … Continue reading
Jo McDougall: In a Muddy Town
She was my classmate in a muddy town, an uncle they say for a father, skinny in a bad dress. No one noticed a dream or two lost. No one … Continue reading
Jo McDougall: Telling Time
My son and I walk away from his sister’s day-old grave. Our backs to the sun, the forward pitch of our shadows tells us the time. By sweetest accident he … Continue reading
Jo McDougall: A Way With Mules
I don’t like writing about the dead, conjuring them in language that some of them never would have used— pushing them onstage, saying, “Go. It doesn’t have to be the … Continue reading
