Isabella rises at first light, as always. Fifty years in the same house. Seventy years with the same man, now passed. Nine children. Four boys, four girls, living. One boy dead. Drowned. Or was it a fire? “Aye,” she whispers,… Continue Reading
As an adult with grown children, Bernie found he missed his deceased parents more than ever. He could see his father in his reflection: nose, eyes, and lips. Perhaps in response to the wave of sentiment, he occasionally dreamed at… Continue Reading
Like I’m supposed to, I show up on the High Holidays and go to grad school and graciously accepted the 18th-birthday nose job from my dad who cares way more than I do that I be available and palatable for… Continue Reading
Behind me, hundreds of papers rustle like the wall is trying to shed its skin. Rain and snow have reduced the pigments on the pages to a neutral gray blob of featureless faces. The names are no more than bleeding… Continue Reading
Hania grew up in a southwest Detroit neighborhood where most people understood English well enough to follow radio broadcasts of Joe Louis fights and fireside chats. But they were far more comfortable conversing in Polish. It was the language of… Continue Reading
“Mm. Morning.” Cass opens her eyes slightly, smiling at me as I tousle her hair. “Morning,” she croaks. “Ugh. Morning voice, sorry.” She rolls to her side, grabbing a glass of water from a stack of plastic storage containers that… Continue Reading
“Humbug” was Marissa’s matter-of-fact reply to the carol singers that evening. She was particularly pleased with her idea to pour humbug sweets from the bedroom window, akin to hot oil in old castle sieges. It had added an extra dimension… Continue Reading
What Samuel loves most about going to his Aunt Virginia and Uncle Joseph’s house is the fish tank, though it usually isn’t kept very well. Last time the glass was covered in a thin layer of grimy algae, and the… Continue Reading
The first time I cussed around grown-ups was at my Uncle’s house in Virginia on Thanksgiving and they all needed to hear it. Here’s what Thanksgiving was all about back then: piling into the cramped sedan for an eleven-hour drive… Continue Reading
The butterflies were in Anna’s head, not in her stomach — a swarm of glorious, golden images she couldn’t seem to suppress, even when she told herself to count sheep, or recite nonsense rhymes, to try and lull herself to… Continue Reading