We rented the house just north of Blissfield, the alley kitchen made for many traffic jams, though the only horns that would blare trumpeted the readiness of rosemary rye. The guest bedroom sweetened with sawdust, your cedar stain waging an aromatic war against my window silled peppermint.
Typing half-churned poetry, touching screens with a tongue, bearing in mind the doomsday clock. Putting passive voice on resumes, love letters, and easily hacked apps, I think Romanticism is back. The lexicon is overflowing, overtaxing, and overstaying its welcome.The NYC, Luddite teens had a
As she called on me to read aloud, a memory swirled warm like a summer breeze across the deep Atlantic: rocking on a black-and-white checked chair by a gas fireplace where my Mom opened Robert Frost and we memorized poems together. She sat close to the flames and melted a h
By Emma Gail Compton I made the table I eat dinner at. The wood was cheap but sturdy. The stain I chose is a dark oaky red and makes the small round table seem more expensive than it was. One could find something similar at any store, but this table, my table, I made. I […]
By Gabrielle Crone Only a hillbilly would bring their injured dog to the vet using twine as a leash. At least that’s what our vet, Westley, announced when he saw my grandpa, Charles Bailey, in the lobby of the clinic twine leash in hand. Gizmo had injured his paw, most [&helli
By Fara Ling Ah Ma, A few weeks ago, I realized I have never written Ah Ma a letter. That means I have never told Ah Ma I love you. There’s no way to say it in Hokkien, Ah Ma’s mother tongue. Forcing the syllables wa ai lu to sit next to […]