Goldeye, Vole

by Tami Haaland

Originally published on October 1, 2001

I say sweep of prairie or curve or sandstone, but it doesn’t come close to this language of dry wind and deer prints, blue racer and sage, its punctuation white quartz and bone. I learned mounds of mayflowers, needle grass on ankles, the occasional sweet pea before I knew words like perspective or travesty or [...]

First Trimester

by Tami Haaland

Originally published on November 1, 1998

For three quiet months it’s not much more than a mouse nest behind the pubic bone so interior no one else can know. A tiny cataclysm in the body of the mother, it creates more earwax, shiny hair, softer flesh, keener smell, the need for fried eggs in the middle of the night. It is [...]