at Sleepy Eye

days stretched out so long, they toppled off the end of the weathered dock into the spring-fed cold at Sleepy Eye among the shadows between the pilings swam the uncatchable ghost of a walleye (suitably fish-tale-sized) someone years past had called Walter every summer we saw him jump, breaking the lake at dusk, just offshore … Continue reading at Sleepy Eye


the old woman laughs and leans, with no small effort, to gleefully scratch the dogs there, behind the ears, as if she's known them always sobaka, she croons, gap-toothed, all wisps and grins sobaka in Russia, she says to me this tiny woman of fading gray of tattered blue scarves and little English so out … Continue reading sobaka