Tag: Cecil Morris

In Her Garden by Cecil Morris

Having already opened the earth, having turned dark spadefuls of dirt out, he kneels, his knees on the soft soil, the bag of bulbs she bought beside him: hyacinths—hard pale lumps no bigger than his thumb tip—possibility asleep inside each one, all the green…

The Radiologists by Cecil Morris

The nicest thing anyone said to me this week. I am face down and ass up on the radiation table, my butt uncovered, exposed, ready to be irradiated while I stare down to darkness. The radiologists pull and push, give commands—move up some, move…

On Our Daughter by Cecil Morris

Our girl, turning seventeen today, has grown too big for her pink room. She feels closed in by the four walls we helped her paint. The whole narrow house, in fact, is too small for her blonde longitude. The rooms, the people, the whole…

Reaching for Her Body by Cecil Morris

At thirteen my daughter chose her own swimming suit, a bright pink two piece for someone with a figure. The bikini’s leg holes arch over her thin hips, over those twin bones still closed like folded wings. After every dive she adjusts her bikini…