Issue 224, Spring 2018
Lost causes confound. Where are you, cousin,
since you swung upside down the iron gate
outside school? The earth is your sky—correct
me, was. I blame the missionaries. I blame
myself for getting the words below Annie Vallotton’s
fluent drawings. You drew blank. Swung and swung.
The hinges, gnashing in my ears, wing out
her “maximum expression with a minimum
of lines.” Impossible, but wait awhile.