selected past writing at 42opus



We huddled in the fallout beneath the house

like we'd done each time before.

My brother and me.

The bass droned long enough for him

to unbutton my jeans.

15 August 2007 | poetry



The little mouse has claimed the kitchen, spread out like a rind,

and under the cedar beam is you: a tent, sturdy as that—with people through the slit

that mimics a shy face in profile

determined not to full-on.

14 March 2006 | poetry, editors' select


The Last Leaf by O. HENRY

In a little district west of Washington Square the streets have run crazy and broken themselves into small strips called "places." These "places" make strange angles and curves. One Street crosses itself a time or two.

19 June 2006 | fiction, short story, classic


Before the Fallout We Traded Imaginary Friends like Football Cards by JESSE DAMIANI

In 1994 you slung thirty dirty verbs and my sister's pacifier over

the cinder block wall separating our house from the neighbor's.

You might not remember, but then, you weren't the one who had

to climb over and salvage it, pal; I always had your back, I was

the fixer. And yeah, we've been through this—I know you don't

exist but I must admit, even 15 years later, when nobody's around

I sometimes stick my fingers in ugly places…

12 July 2010 | poetry


Poem without an Epigraph by ELISA GABBERT

It's going to be another bad winter,

as in, not a good example of winter:

you can sit on the beach in November

with no coat.

21 August 2008 | poetry

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