SALLY RIDE WATCHES THE CHALLENGER EXPLODE I know what it is to be boxed in hot light, ushered into more darkness, pinpricked by the
Category: Fall 2016
When the half-moon, past a half night bent its light on the red-brown building,the misery, it quickened, the despair, it doubled, grim thoughts like fiends
When Patrice Hughes turned forty, her gift to herself was a week in Paris, alone. It was the Eighties, when the married women she knew
I saunter slowly through the aisles of annuals and poppies, past flowering cacti and tiny Christmas trees following Michaelene in the Lowe’s Garden Center on
Chef’s Knife The knife shriek shriek shrieks against the rod. Fluorescent light, bouncing, highlights the grain, smearing brightness on the white subway tiles. We are
Marisol’s daughter, Jaquelin, turned 19 yesterday. She and her 15-year-old brother have been pacing the pea-green fluorescent-lit hallways of the intensive care unit for days.
I knew you were drunk last night. Not by the smell as much as the three times you called me beautiful. By the talk of
I. That winter, I took up writing in an attempt to forget the countryside. My first play, carefully parsed out into eight acts, took place
We scrub March sludge, soak up
marsh chorus in our shared porcelain
tub under cloud-clad sky. We dive in
to the rain-clad quarry with naked acrobats.
I notice my body does not match.