Amy Gordon

By Amy Gordon I learned the word atrocious when I was eight on the day we were being taught to tie knots. Something about a rabbit coming up through holes, or diving down through holes, or going around trees. All the kids around me were directing their rabbits perfectly. My rabbit, evidently, was seeking greener […]

by Amy Gordon My voice with the dancer’s waist and antique grace always told me how every cricket creaks before dawn, how oak trees shed their acorns. And my voice liked to tell me how worms boast how they ate through the eyes of Aristotle, would eat through them books of his, too, but too