The Idea of North came to mind when I began reading Laurelyn Whitt’s poems in Adagio for the Horizon. The videos about the North...
“I am so broken,” you say. Raising my head, I am struck by this new look in your eyes. Mesmerized, I don’t even wonder as...
Writing is dangerous. It’s a broken bone mended wrong. A healing scab you pick until it bleeds. It opens wounds and...
That time you are eight, and you trip crossing the road, and almost get hit by the oncoming traffic. Your mother yells at you, and you hear the animal in her voice...
Alone on a mesa, a pink crabapple tree embraces the wind, its branches reaching up and out like a menorah...
My outdoorsy boyfriend lived for the feeling of shoving his feet into one-size- too-small rock climber shoes and...
Already 5’9” at twelve years old, I never knew where my hands were until I bumped into a doorway or where my feet were until I tripped over...
Whenever my siblings mention the frying pan incident, I laugh along with them, even though I find it tragic and and far from funny.
A Spiny Orb Weaver spider has taken up residence in the potted plants next to my back door. It is an odd looking creature...
“Aargh, these weeds. And I was just here,” Shifrah Fogel Bernstein thought, as she got to her knees to yank out the invaders, the botanical equivalents...
I remember. Finding you, there seeing you lay so still The air itself dared not to disturb. your frail body, So still..."
The window display in the Goodwill relied on an imaginative employee. Sometimes washed, occasionally smokey, and...
Awais had a great thirst for adventure. During his college days he toured several places with his classmates in a college bus.
It was me who dropped the box of Band-Aids into the toilet. None of us wanted to admit it, but Ben and Jimmy had had nothing to confess.
A wise old art dealer in Amsterdam liked to tell a particular story, over appelflappen and coffee, of when he was not so old and not so wise.
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