Five Points, Vol. 11 No. 3

Fall 2007

From Karen Finley, “I think I realized my own version of the American Dream in that I am doing exactly what I wanted to do.”

Sample Content

Mark Irwin

Before she died, I fed my mother
an egg. She asked for it
soft boiled. “Why am I so hungry?”
she asked, leaning forward
from her green chair. I picked
pieces of shell
off the rubbery skin. Outside the grey
sky was flecked with snow,
and within the concave spoon
our heads became wobbly
and large. I scooped
a piece toward her lipsticked
mouth, and for a moment
the rivery yolk seemed
to light the room. “Thank you
Bill,” she said, forgetting I was
her son. “You’re welcome,”
I said, touching the lights
of her teeth, while outside the trees tossed
their thick feathers and did not fly.