Milk Shake
I am never lonely and never bored. Except when I bore myself, which is my definition of loneliness—to bore oneself. It makes a body lonesome, that.
Mary Ruefle
Poetry
The Woman Who Couldn’t Describe A Thing If She Could
We have a house. There is a roof and there are windows. I think they are square. You can see through them, that’s for sure. There is a door to go into and out of the house. It works both ways. And oh, a floor.
Two Poems
Oh my god, it’s Paris by moonlight
Even the trees are drunk and walking
A single pink slipper floats down the Seine
Daily
Paris by Moonlight
Mary Ruefle’s poem “Paris by Moonlight” appeared in our Spring 2006 issue. Her latest collection is Trances of the Blast.Oh my god, it’s Paris by moonlight
Even the trees are drunk and walking
A single pink slipper floats down the Seine
What kind of tre…