My House

By Olena Jennings

Let me give you my address

so that if you are in the neighborhood

you can drive by,

see if they’ve repainted.

You might also see someone I used to know.

Maybe eventually

we will see each other.

Let me give you my address

so that you can find it

on a map,

so that at least you will know

where I came from,

at least someone will know

where I came from.

On the map

it’s the pale orange shape

next to the light blue

of the water

where I walked on the wet sand

dragging a stick, drawing

a line that would lead back.

More Remarkable Finds

July 1964

By Olena Jennings

She holds a flower, listening only to the small petals. They’ve all come outside to see the purple.

By Robert J. Howe

Every time I see a bird, I apologize. There but for the grace of . . . well, not God, certainly.

By Roger W. Hecht

Parkinson’s a bitch, my father said, shaking off the awkwardness of having his son hold him in bed to hold off the shaking.