Harp & Altar
Roseanne Carrara

Andy Fitch
from Island

Eileen G'Sell

Amy King

Jesse Lichtenstein

Stephen Sturgeon
Three Elegies for Landis Everson
The Clothes of Coronado

G.C. Waldrep

The Clothes of Coronado
Stephen Sturgeon

An overcoat, red shoes, red bag.

These are the clothes I talk to

in my kitchen on a different coast.

Sometimes the view into my garden

is dim, and I juggle the phone

listening to whatever time there is,

the past, the future.


Each lace leads on to a button,

a fly, a pipe tucked into a hole.

A dash of string alone will be seen,

flying from my head, off an ocean cliff.

Stop thinking about coming here

and tell me more about what you wear.


It’s hard to see into my garden

where the fence has been lovingly chewed,

so I write out a good-bye letter.

There is a collection of hats in a bin

in my garage that you should have

and the handle needs grease.

The fur coats have fleas.

Have you ever been out west with me,

counting the basements I laid?


I left a shirt in every one of them.

If I had them now, the pockets

would be filled with telephones

ringing the pants my friends really lost.

They made me do it, name all the clothes

that walked straight into your home.