I remember when you first walked into my room in a navy blue surgical suit with a bright yellow ‘UofM’ logo, and a scrub cap with the opposing team’s emblem, boldly displayed on the front. The first irony of this whole endeavor. You were calm and supportive, you were kind and loving, you were
Flopped in the armchair, I’m folded in half under a blanket, clam-shelled over criss crossed legs. The applesauce on the stove is bubbling. Soon you won’t even have to chew the chunks. Soon we’ll put cinnamon on top. My wife— I still hold this idea gently, it’s wings haven’t dried yet—
The smell of freshly plucked grain and sliced fruit greets me as I step into the last stop on my messenger trail in Fahee, a farmer’s market the locals call “Barric’s” after the original owner. I’ve had a long journey delivering mail to and from Polaris, nine twelfth-years to be exact, and
Taz took a deep breath. The cool morning air tasted like freedom. Mel was leaning against the rusty hood of his Jeep, twirling his keys in his fingers with an idle smile. Against his better judgment, Taz grinned. He loved Mel’s nonchalance; the man never looked out of place anywhere, even with tha
After Edouard Levé’s Autoportrait My life is a series of closing doors. I don’t know how to be anything other than a student. I am tired of being tired, of my eyelids closing and feeling like they’re scraping sand. I joke about my medication so I don’t have to think too hard about it. I [&h
