Andrew Braithwaite

A Listener He showed up for the first time on the second Friday of November, a fair to cloudy day that reached 60 degrees.  None...

Munsey Avenue When I was three years old, my family’s house was struck by lightning. My parents and I were at the supermarket checkout counter...

An Elegy for the Girl Before   After Luca Giordano’s Perseus Turning Phineus and His Followers to Stone   miserable girlflesh now turned the color of your worries,...

Not the Color of the Rainbow She stood outside, next to the horse corral, the morning dew still hung on the lips of palm trees....

Writing About a Deer Because You Can’t Write About Cancer for Ilyse The bone loop of the vertebrae whitens in the airlike every bitter grief...

Lament Beginning With A Line From Khaled Mattawa I have fallen into the embrace of my own rugged innocencelistener who suffers, in my innocence I’ve...

Like a Word on the Tip of Your Tongue When you drop from the pullup bar onto the old wooden stoop of your cabin in...

Tearjerker Downspout from the gargoyle’s mouth, a city’s sediment that escaped quenching. What once was rainwater through a most baffling sequence of events               is now blood. The metamorphosis explained by the days...

Sleep: A Report Oh, elusive lullaby of the body, porthole into the brain’s watery depths, last night you had me fretting over deadlines again— deadlines, what a term to carry...

survivor’s guilt Does x imitate y? x | y x = I smoke microchips. To catch a ride to myself; to tune the healing frequency. y = The...